Let Go
by The She Devil
Summary: "Nick liked to be in control of his life, but if last night had proven anything, it was that no one really had any control over their own destiny. Not when there were punks waiting to assault you in an alley or stalkers living in your attic." Takes place throughout season two. Nick/Greg slash.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Let Go

AUTHOR: The She Devil

EMAIL: thranowski at gmail

CATEGORY: Romance/Drama

RATING: M for language and sexuality.

SPOILERS: None, unless you haven't seen season two. In which case I suggest you immediately do so. So flirty and slashy.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything.

SUMMARY: "Nick liked to be in control of his life, but if last night had proven anything, it was that no one really had any control over their own destiny. Not when there were punks waiting to assault you in an alley or stalkers living in your attic." Takes place throughout season two. Nick/Greg slash.

NOTES: Ian Reed is played by Ian Somerhalder, because he has just the right amount of snark and bitchiness and also because he's gorgeous. Think his character in "The Rules of Attraction," which you should also see if you haven't.

I just want to say one more quick thing. I hope this story isn't the stereotypical "Nick's afraid of coming out of the closet." I wanted it to be about a number of things besides that. In the first seasons, Nick was portrayed heavily as having a ladies' man reputation and known for his wild days in a frat at Texas A&amp;M partying and chasing girls. So everyone assumes this about you, and then you have to reveal something about yourself that completely shatters that image; that can be pretty daunting. Second, he was also portrayed as a serial dater, so I also wanted it to convey a fear of commitment. Also the fear of having his personal space intruded upon by another person (in S2's "Stalker" Nick is incredibly pissed that Greg distributed the Crime Stopper newsletter and invaded his privacy), and the fear of allowing things to unfold naturally. I believe Nick is very tightly wound and expresses himself in unrestrained bursts of violence (punching a door frame in S1's "Blood Drops") and when he breaks down emotionally (when he cries, for example, which is usually privately and with frustration). All this to say, I tried to make this story a little more three-dimensional and complex than the status quo, and I hope I was successful. Sorry for the long-winded explanation. Enjoy.

* * *

Nick was a man that prided himself on his composure and self-restraint. Sure, there was the occasional outburst, such as punching a door at a particularly stressful crime scene or maybe barking a little too harshly at a suspect during an interrogation, but those were only during those rare moments when his anger and frustrations dangerously bubbled up inside of him until they exploded out of him like twisting the cap off of a shaken soda bottle. For the most part, Nick knew how to keep his cool. He was stoic, poised, carried himself like the territorial alpha male he was, and made sure everybody knew he was in control of himself and everything around him. Peacocking is what they called it in Texas.

But something was happening to him. Something was crawling under his skin. Some_one_. Someone with a loud mouth and louder shirts and hair that changed colors with the days of the week. Someone that never stopped moving, never stopped fidgeting, never stopped talking. Nick would drive to work and think about him. Process a scene and think about him. Eat in the break room and think about him. Lay down to sleep after a long shift and think. About. _Him_.

There was something about him. Something about the way he moved so fluidly within the glass walls of his lab. Delicate yet strong hands. Slender wrists. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. Legs that went on for miles. Physically, but there was something else about him too. He was so much smarter than Nick, which was oddly intimidating but thrilling at the same time. Nick usually only dated cops or bimbos, neither of which ever knew much about science. Or surfing. Or diving. Or latex. Or the myriad number of other things the young man seemed to know about. And then there was the wit and the laugh and that mischievous smile and...

Sometimes, Nick wanted to kiss him just to see what reaction he would get. Imagined pushing him up against one of the tables in the lab, the counter digging into the small of his back. Imagined the usually cocky and overconfident young man flustered and blushing under the harsh florescent lights. Imagined grabbing whatever colorful shirt he was wearing that day in his fists and pulling him into a deep and bruising kiss. Nick was terrified to think the mouthy lab rat would return the sentiment. Excited to think he could finally make him shut up.

These thoughts only served to further convince Nick he was going crazy, and he didn't know what to do. All he knew for sure was that he had an itch that needed to be scratched, and that itch was named Greg Sanders. That, and the fact that he couldn't live like this much longer.

There were nights that were so restless, when Nick's mind spent too much time thinking about _him_, that he'd drive all the way out to another city miles and miles away to find himself at a gay bar, drinking whiskey and surveying the crowd until he chose his mark. It wasn't difficult to find a man to take back to the bathroom, or his truck, or sometimes a motel. Nick was attractive, he knew his Southern boy charm didn't only work on the ladies. There were nights he'd even find someone that looked like Greg. Tall and lanky with broad shoulders and dark hair. Or blond. Or light brown, depending on what color Greg had decided on that day. Sometimes, as he fucked them from behind, face hidden from view, he'd even pretend it _was_ Greg. Although they usually didn't like it when he called out Greg's name.

He wanted Greg, there was no doubt about it. And sometimes, he wondered if Greg wanted him too. They often shared suggestive conversations that made Nick wonder if the young man was flirting or just being really, _really_ honest. It was hard to tell, because he didn't just act that way around Nick. He acted that way around everybody. It was curious and infuriating at the same time. It made Nick jealous, and he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with his ego. That territorial alpha male thing.

But Greg was his coworker, and Nick was a professional. He had never gotten involved with someone at work, but it hadn't been for lack of a desire to do so. There was always a possibility of mixed signals or a messy breakup, which could only serve to inject a work relationship with resentment or drama, and that was something Nick hadn't been willing to risk. Not to mention the complications that could arise from getting involved with a _male_ coworker. Discrimination from coworkers or upper management. Constant harassment. Losing his job. Even his closest friends thinking differently of him. And that was a thought he really couldn't bear to contemplate.

So he stayed back a safe distance, drifting in and out of the lab more often than he should, leaning closer than he should, touching more than he should. Just to get a small whiff of that sweet citrus-candy scent. Just to feel the heat emanating off of that tall, lithe body. Knew that safe distance was getting smaller and smaller, especially when Greg had called him out on it. _You think Einstein had people hovering over his shoulders all the time?_

No. But Einstein hadn't nearly been as alluring.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick had arrived into work in a whirlwind that morning, having slept straight through his alarm. He'd barely had time to shower and shave before running out the door, and he definitely hadn't had any time to eat. Now he was hungry, flustered, and rushing into the meeting room to see his coworkers already there and receiving their assignments.

"Nice of you to join us, Nicky," Grissom deadpanned, his eyes never leaving his paperwork as he extended a slip of paper to the younger man.

"Sorry, I overslept," Nick mumbled, grabbing the slip offered to him, frowning as he read the words scribbled in his boss' messy handwriting. He looked up with disdain. "Assault and battery? What gives, Gris?"

"I'm sorry, Nicky," he said ruefully. "Ecklie's nephew. You know I'd never hear the end of it if I sent a Level 1 out there."

"Really? Come on, man" Nick groaned, before turning to his awfully smug-looking coworkers. "What did you guys get?"

"419 in an alley," Warrick stated triumphantly as he left the room.

"I got a B&amp;E gone bad," Sara added. "Dead maid."

"Man, this sucks!" Nick exclaimed, sounding not unlike a petulant child even to his own ears.

"He that riseth late," Grissom began, as he shuffled past Nick in the doorway, "must trot all day."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick muttered, mentally noting to look up the source of that quote later.

Nick grabbed his kit and vest, stoically heading to his SUV but inwardly he was fuming. A Level 3 CSI – one level higher than Warrick – and he still got stuck with shit like this while Grissom's favorite got to work murder scenes on his own. What a joke.

He tried to remind himself that because the victim was Ecklie's nephew, he had to be the one to process the scene, and maybe he should have been flattered that he was high enough up on the food chain to have been chosen, but he still felt like an ass. Also, he was pretty sure it was punishment for being late that evening.

Shortly after leaving the crime lab, he arrived to a bar that was nowhere near the strip. It was a free standing building like several other bars and restaurants in this particular part of town, but unlike most other establishments, it was a gay bar. Nick immediately put his guard up. He'd heard of this radar that gay men supposedly possessed to single each other out, but it seemed to have skipped Nick's generation. He could never tell who was batting for what team unless it was blatantly obvious. Sometimes he wasn't sure if this "gaydar" thing was a myth, but he was always afraid someone would smoke him out and inadvertently blow his cover. Luckily, if it was ever suggested, Nick could hopefully shrug it off with his lady killer reputation that he'd so carefully constructed over the years.

He drove around to the back of the bar where two other police cars had parked in an alley. Stepped out of his SUV and followed the action into the backdoor, spotting an officer he was familiar with that greeted him and pointed him the way to the victim. There was a young man was sitting on a bar stool in a small alcove that appeared to be used for storing unused or unusable furniture. He was holding a small bag of ice wrapped in a linen napkin to one of his eyes.

"Hi, sir," Nick said cordially. "I'm Nick Stokes with the Las Vegas crime lab. I just came to collect some evidence."

"Ian Reed," he responded, smiling tightly. He was tall and slender with angular features, fair skin and dark hair. As Nick came closer, he could see the man's eyes were a piercing blue, one of which was framed by a nice shiner.

"So what happened?" Nick asked, opening one of his pockets to pull out a pair of latex gloves.

"Ah, I got jumped in the alley back there," Ian responded, waving it off as if it was no big deal. Nick wondered how often it had happened in the man's past, equally wondered if Ian was a victim because he was gay or because of something he had done to provoke it. Nick could see the perpetually cynical expression in those blue eyes, a look that screamed trouble. "I told the officers, it's not worth all this trouble. They didn't take any of my stuff, just roughed me up a little bit, that's all. Don't let my uncle put the squeeze on you."

Nick smirked at the expression, as if they were in a 1940's film noir. "Just doing what we always do."

"Hey, Stokes," Nick heard from behind him, turning briefly to see Brass. If a homicide detective was stopping by to check up on a simple assault, Nick had to wonder just how much of a squeeze the older man had gotten from the higher ups. "Listen, there's been a string of these things around all the gay clubs in Vegas. Victims keep describing the same guys. Ian here doesn't look too bad, but they've left others in much worse condition. I know a homicide detective doesn't have any business being here, but I'm afraid soon I will. Just get what evidence you can."

"Sure thing," Nick assured him.

"All right," Brass said, after a cursory glance at his watch. "I've done my civic duty stopping by to see Ecklie's nephew. I gotta go."

Nick nodded pensively as he bid Brass farewell. Maybe Grissom had inadvertently assigned him a case he could really sink his teeth into, something he could use to finally prove his worth. He turned back to Ian, picking up his camera.

"I'm just going to take some pictures, see what evidence I can pick up from your clothes, and I'll need your fingerprints and a DNA sample," Nick stated almost idly, setting the lens. He looked up at Ian's guarded expression and softened slightly. Sometimes, he knew he could be a little bit too clinical and impersonal in his tone. "If that's okay with you."

Ian offered him a disarming smile. "Do your worst."

Nick cleared his throat, lifting his camera to his face and hoping it would hide his blush.

* * *

Nick returned to the crime lab with fingerprints, DNA, and fibers, along with some fingernail scrapings that appeared promising. Apparently, Ian had gone down fighting and had gotten a few good licks in before the mob had dispersed. After dropping off all of the other evidence to their various departments for processing, Nick was left clutching Ian's DNA and the fingernail scrapings, hoping to charm Greg into putting a rush on his samples. It may have seemed like a run-of-the-mill assault, but now that Nick knew it was one of several attacks by the same group of perpetrators, he was eager to start doing some research into the previous cases and see if he could start fitting some puzzle pieces together.

"Hey, Nicky," Catherine greeted as she breezed by. "How's your night going so far?"

"Pretty good," he responded, smiling warmly. "Just dropping off these samples and then I've got some unsolved cases to read up on."

"Sounds exciting," Catherine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't expect any results too soon. Sanders has been backed up for days."

Nick turned to face her, his expression pained. "What? Why?"

"Ecklie fired another day shift tech." She shrugged, before continuing down the hallway. "Don't get too upset about it. We're all getting screwed."

This was just great. Every day Greg spent behind meant another day Nick's case would be behind. Another day for the perpetrators to attack another victim and quite possibly kill whoever was next this time. Not to mention the fact that Ecklie's nephew was involved, which meant that prick would be riding Nick's ass until the evidence was packaged nicely in a case file with a pretty bow on top. Of course, it was Ecklie's own fault, but that wouldn't matter to him.

Nick stepped into Greg's lab, the sound of rock music emanating from the cheap boom box on one of the counters, but there was no lab rat to be found. He turned the volume down, his eyes searching the room as if Greg would appear from thin air. He needed to make sure Greg knew this was a priority, hoping his innocent Southern charm routine would do the trick like it usually did. Of course, it wouldn't work if Greg wasn't actually there.

Irritably, Nick deposited his evidence on the mounting pile in the corner of the room before exiting the lab in search of the young man. He found him in the break room, leaning against the counter as he ate a yogurt, laughing at something Sara had said from her seat at the table. Of course he was laughing at what she said. Everything Sara said was so funny and enchanting and it was all Greg could do not to fall all over her as he hung on to her every word.

"Hey, G. Sara," Nick said, nodding at Sara before turning his attention to Greg. He was slightly annoyed that while he'd been told Greg was so busy and backed up for days, here he was in the break room goofing off with Sara. It had nothing to do with Sara. Or the irrational jealousy bubbling up inside of him. Or anything like that. "What are you doing?"

"Eating a yogurt," Greg replied, holding up the small plastic container in his hand.

"I just dropped off some samples – "

"Ah," Greg interrupted, nodding knowingly. "I know what this is about. Never a 'Hey, how you doing, Greg?' or a 'Greg, you look particularly handsome today.' You only want me when you need me."

Nick sighed. "I need you to process them right away."

"No can do," Greg said, shrugging helplessly before sticking a spoonful of blue-tinted yogurt into his mouth. "I'm backlogged at least for two days."

"Then what are you doing in here if you have so much work to do?" Nick challenged hotly.

"I'm not allowed to eat in my lab," Greg said casually, and Nick wanted to strike him. "Not that I would want to. You know what kind of stuff goes in and out of there."

"This is important, Greg."

"They're all important."

"Can't you just do me a favor?" Nick asked, finally caving in, desperation creeping into his voice. "Ecklie's nephew is the victim. He was assaulted earlier tonight."

"You CSIs and your favors," Greg said, shaking his head. He suddenly appeared thoughtful, turning the spoon upside down in his mouth and allowing it to slide down his tongue. "I do you guys so many favors and I never seem to get anything in return."

"What does that mean?" Nick asked, unable to remove his eyes from Greg's tongue as it darted out between his lips to lick the corner of his mouth.

"You know," Greg began, his tone almost suggestive as he turned towards Nick. He deposited his spoon into the sink behind him, sticking his finger into the now nearly empty container to sweep out a creamy glob of yogurt. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of thing. And I've got an itch."

Greg winked as he slipped his finger into his mouth, sucking off the yogurt until his finger slid out from between his lips with a lewd popping sound.

"So," Greg said, drawing the word out in a sing-song voice. "What's in it for me?"

And then he did it again. Swept his finger into the yogurt container, stuck his finger into his mouth, and it was all Nick could do not to fulfill his aforementioned fantasy of pushing Greg up against the counter and showing him exactly what he would do with that mouth, even if that meant scandalizing Sara. The older man swallowed hard, forcing himself to regain his bearings before daring to speak.

"Beer," Nick blurted out, his voice remarkably even. Greg shot him a confused look, glancing at Sara briefly before returning his gaze to Nick. "I'll buy you a beer."

Greg scoffed, tossing his yogurt container into the trash. "What do I look like, a cheap date? I'm insulted, frankly. You'll have to do better than that."

"What?" Nick asked, dubious.

"I'll tell you what," he said, shifting closer to Nick and poking a finger into his chest as he leaned into him. "I'll give you time to think about it. You get back to me when you have something better to offer."

"What about my samples?" Nick asked, as Greg headed for the door.

Greg paused in the doorway, turning to face him. "Until then, this is the top of Greg's pile." Greg held his hand up to about eye level. "This is the bottom of Greg's pile." He held out his other hand to about his waist. Then, his hand at eye level moved beneath the hand at his waist. "And these are Nick's samples."

He smiled that bright shit-eating grin, and then he was gone. Nick set his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he stood in the middle of the break room, hands on his hips, tension rolling off of him in waves. He looked at Sara, who was still sitting at the table, her expression displaying her amusement.

"Did I just get played by Greg Sanders?" Nick asked.

Sara grinned. "I think you did."

* * *

The rest of Nick's shift was spent reading up on the previous assault cases. Some victims had been beaten so badly they'd nearly been left for dead. Some had been sexually assaulted. Some, like Ian Reed, had managed to escape with only a few bruises. It seemed that Ian's attack had been interrupted by a few bar patrons, thankfully. There were at least four or five men doing the attacking, but who was to say how many there really were when the victims were being beaten within an inch of their life? It could be more, it could be less. Fear and terror always altered perception.

One of the victim's DNA, Daniel Riley, had been found on another victim's clothing a month later. It could be explained if one of the assailants was wearing the same clothes, maybe unwashed, but what were the chances a month later? Riley was a minister, with a wife and child. What was he doing at a gay bar on a Saturday night? He had gotten away with minor injuries, and when an officer arrived after a witness had called the police, he'd refused assistance; thankfully, the officer had filed a report anyway based on witness testimony, although there didn't appear to be any type of follow up.

He continued to study the evidence: pictures, fibers, trace, DNA. Nothing had hit any matches, no dots had been connected, but he wasn't sure whether anyone had ever looked at all of these cases as a whole rather than just one case at a time. He wasn't sure anyone had ever cared to.

With a yawn, Nick leaned back on his stool, arching his back as he rubbed his aching lower spine. He was aggravated by the lack of detail in these cases. Just another typical assault, evidence collected with the assumption that the perpetrators would never be caught, so why bother?

"Nick," he heard from the doorway, startling him out of his thoughts. It was Grissom, and he didn't look happy. Granted, he never did, but there was a tightness in his expression that Nick recognized immediately. "What are you doing?"

"Just looking over the evidence from some old assault cases," Nick replied, indicating the files and pictures in front of him. "They might be connected to – "

"Have you gotten those results back from DNA yet?" his boss interrupted, impatience creeping into his voice.

"Well, no, but I haven't checked – "

"Maybe you should get on that," he replied, uncharacteristically gruff. "Ecklie's been calling me every hour, sometimes less. I'm going to give him your personal cell if you don't give me something soon."

"I'll check on it right now," Nick responded, feeling like a scolded child. He hated it when Grissom got like this. Didn't he think by now Nick could handle a simple assault on his own? Just because Ecklie was breathing down Grissom's neck didn't mean Grissom needed to breathe down Nick's. Another sign that Grissom didn't trust him to do his job.

Bristled, Nick went into the cubicle he shared with Warrick and logged into his computer to check on Greg's progress. If Greg had put a rush on it, like Nick had asked, he should be finished by now. Then again, Nick had never worked up the courage to offer any favors more worthwhile than a free beer. But Greg had been joking, just like he always did. Right?

He realized that perhaps Greg had been serious when he saw that none of his samples had been even started yet. Immediately, Nick fumed. He shouldn't have to offer anything to the irritating lab rat for Greg to process DNA evidence. That was his job, after all. And Nick had told him it was important, and that Ecklie's nephew was involved. Shouldn't that count for something?

Nick traversed the hallway to the DNA lab, standing outside of the glass walls and observing Greg for a moment. Sometimes, when Greg wasn't paying attention, Nick just like to watch him work. When he wasn't talking off anyone's ear or playing trivia games or making inappropriate jokes, the steely look of concentration on his face and the fierce fire in those brown eyes was an intense enough image to take Nick's breath away. He sometimes dared to imagine that expression aimed at him while the young man hovered over him in the dark, all breathy whines and sweat-sheened skin.

"Is there something you want or are you just going to stand there and stare at me all day?" he heard from the open doorway to his right. Nick smiled sheepishly, a blush creeping up the back of his neck as he realized he'd been caught red-handed. And Greg hadn't even looked up from his microscope. Maybe the young man paid more attention than Nick had previously thought.

"I just wanted to check up on my test results," Nick replied, stepping into the room. Greg shifted from his microscope to his computer, typing hurriedly on the keyboard.

"You're not the father," Greg stated almost absently, his finger tracing over a print out before he returned to his typing.

"For my assault case," Nick clarified, crossing his arms over his chest. "The one with Ecklie's nephew."

"Haven't gotten to it yet," Greg responded, turning and removing a slide from the microscope. He replaced it with another one and peered into the lens.

"When are you going to get to it?" Nick asked, unable to help the edge in his tone. "I asked you to put a rush on it."

"And I told you," the younger man said, back to his computer again. "I am backlogged two days."

"You told me if I offered you a favor you'd think about it."

Greg tossed him a glance loaded with innuendo and mischief. "And?"

"And I shouldn't have to give you anything for you to do your job!" Nick exclaimed, stepping further into the room and pressing his palms onto the counter top, gripping the edges with white knuckles. He leaned across and closer to Greg, attempting to appear intimidating but the smell of chemicals and cologne and _Greg_ threw him off. "This is important."

Greg didn't even flinch. He only smirked before returning to his work, and it was infuriating.

"I mean it, Sanders," Nick fumed, as Greg grabbed his slide and packaged it for transport. "There have been a string of assaults by the same guys, and I'm the first investigator to try to connect the dots."

"Well, you are a crime stopper," Greg mused with a shrug, referring to the embarrassing flyers must've read from an old LVPD newsletter featuring _Nick Stokes: Crime Stopper._ "If anyone can do it, it's you."

"_Greg_ – "

"Wait right here," Greg interrupted, holding up one finger. "I'll be right back."

In a flurry, Greg left the room. Jaw clenched, breathing hard through his nose, Nick stood with his arms crossed once again, waiting for Greg to return. He glanced at his watch. There was nowhere near enough time for this kind of nonsense if Greg was going to get his results done tonight. Nick left the lab in search of the young man, finding him in the room across the hall standing at the computer.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, holding out his hands in a pleading gesture.

"I have to print mailing labels from this computer," Greg replied, indicating the printer behind Nick. "The printer in my lab doesn't print labels right. I told you I'd be right back."

"I don't have time for this, Greg!"

"It's literally been thirty seconds."

"Were you even listening to what I said in there?" Nick nearly yelled in exasperation, leaning against the counter behind him.

"You said there have been a string of assaults and you're the crime stopper that's going to finally solve the case," Greg stated, nodding.

"I'm too busy for these games tonight, Greg."

Greg smirked. "I can see that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick snapped, frowning.

"It means," Greg began, stepping closer to Nick, stepping into his personal space. "If you're _so_ busy, and you have _so_ many things to do, what are you always doing wasting _so_ much time in _my_ lab talking to _me_?"

Nick was pinned against the counter, his back digging into the edge of the counter top, and Greg was standing nearly flush to him. So close Nick could smell that scent again: chemicals and cologne and now Greg was so close Nick could smell that fruity hair product he used along with coffee and cinnamon gum and – _fuck_. Greg was smiling, just the corner of his mouth upturned, his tongue skimming over his teeth, his eyes that dark and fiery intense brown.

Nick felt his heart hammering in his chest, heat creeping into his cheeks, and this was not how he'd imagined this at all. Greg was supposed to be the one backed into a corner trembling like a school girl, not the other way around and _Jesus Christ _Greg was leaning closer now, so close there was only an inch between their lips and Nick was leaning back but Greg kept coming and –

There was a tearing of paper as Greg pulled the labels from the printer behind Nick.

"You're standing in front of my printer," Greg said, stepping back. Then all Nick saw was a flash of white teeth before Greg spun on his heel and walked away.

Nick's breath exploded from him, his body nearly melting against the counter as the tension released from him. God, he was such an idiot. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He need to stop this, stop obsessing so much over everything Greg did or said, everything Greg didn't do or didn't say. There were no stolen touches, no loaded glances, no hidden agendas. Greg was just a normal guy that worked with him at the crime lab and Nick had to stop this insane crush that was quickly turning into an unhealthy infatuation. This wasn't high school. Nick was a professional. He needed to get his shit together and grow up.

Maybe it would serve to ease Nick's nerves if he actually made an attempt to get to know Greg a little. Maybe if they spent more time together, Nick would become more comfortable around him. Maybe if they became closer, Nick could finally get Greg off of that pedestal he had put the young man on. Maybe then, Nick would actually feel like Greg _was_ just a normal guy that worked with him at the crime lab.

There was nothing that could absolutely go wrong with that logic.

* * *

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

The following hours of Nick's shift were spent in the desert. Three long and arduous hours, to be exact, spent digging up a dead body. Another two digging up the dead canine buried beside it, and another two processing the scene, which had only consisted of dirt upon dirt upon dirt. He was covered in sand and sweat and whatever else had stuck to his skin, not to mention the bug bites marring his arms and neck. He nearly felt like he had been the one that had been dug out of a grave. He was hot and tired and he just wanted to go home, but not before he dropped off the evidence bags balanced precariously in his arms.

"Whoa, Nick," Sara said, as she passed him in the hallway. She was clutching her purse, obviously on her way out, and Nick felt a pang of jealousy. "Is that you hiding under all that dirt?"

"Not in the mood, Sara," he responded. "Just dropping off these samples and then I'm out of here."

"See you tomorrow," she called, as she continued on her path out the door, and then turned on her heel. "Oh, wait. You're off tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Sure am," he replied, catching sight of Sara's forlorn expression.

"Great," she said flatly. "You and Greg both off, who's going to keep me entertained?"

"I'm sure you'll live," he stated, and as he made a beeline for the DNA lab, he smiled for the first time in hours.

It was just before eight in the morning, and Greg was still inside of his lab, scowling at his computer. The young man smacked the side of the monitor with visible frustration before smashing the keys with both hands. So consumed with his task of beating his computer into submission, Greg didn't even notice when Nick entered the lab with an armful of evidence.

"Hey, G," Nick greeted, as he deposited his samples onto the counter beside the tons of other packages that had been dropped off throughout the night. He frowned at the sight of them, piled so high Nick couldn't even see the counter space.

"Whatever you've got," Greg began, his voice edged with irritation, "Days will have to get to it. I don't – I can't – _dammit!_"

"Everything okay?" Nick asked tentatively, stepping closer to the young man until he was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder at the computer. Greg's posture was rigid, his shoulders tense, and Nick had to fight the urge to reach out and ease the stress away with strong, firm hands.

"How am I supposed to get any work done when this piece of _shit_ from 1985 keeps freezing?" Greg cried, picking up his keyboard and slamming it back down onto the counter. "I'm backlogged out the ass, Catherine is totally on her period and yelled at me in front of everybody in the break room about some stupid fingernail scrapings that Trace even never gave to me, and Ecklie is coming down on me about his son or nephew or whoever the – which, by the way, you're going to have to recollect his DNA sample because that new janitor knocked his cleaning solution right onto my workstation and – "

"Greg," Nick urged, and this time he did place both of his hands on Greg's shoulders, gently squeezing against the taught muscles. Not massaging. Just...comfortingly touching. "Breathe, man. It's all right. You can only do what you can do."

Greg took in a deep breath, releasing it quickly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Nick said, hesitantly dropping his hands back to his sides. "Almost finished in here?"

"No," Greg responded forlornly. "I still have a ton of work to do. I guess I should be grateful for the overtime while I can get it, right?"

"Right. Working tomorrow?" Nick asked casually, even though he already knew the answer.

"No, thank God," Greg said, turning to look at Nick for the first time, and his expression immediately changed to surprise at the sight of him. "What happened to you?"

"The desert," Nick responded, shrugging. "I'm off tomorrow too. Want to grab that beer?"

Greg offered him a wry grin. "You don't have to worry about it. I already ran your samples. Fingernail scrapings came back a match to two other samples from previous attacks. No names, just unknowns."

"Really," Nick murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Did you drop it in my box?"

"Yeah, they're at your desk," Greg replied, moving to the pile of evidence and grabbing the next sample. "I tried to find you but Grissom said you were out in the field. And like I said, you're going to have to recollect that swab from your vic'."

Nick was itching to slip away to his desk and go over the results, but not before he got an answer on that drink. "Anyway, what about that beer?"

"Who else is going?" Greg asked, focusing on the lab order that accompanied what appeared to be a dirty rag.

"No one," Nick said, shrugging. "Warrick and Sara are working."

"I see," the younger man said, scoffing as he looked up from his paperwork. "All your friends are busy so I'm your consolation prize?"

"No," Nick stated, frowning. "I just want to get a beer. As friends."

Greg narrowed his eyes. "We aren't friends, Nick."

"Do you want to go or not?" Nick asked through gritted teeth, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture.

Greg made a big show out of considering the idea, his eyes cast to the ceiling, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Nick rolled his eyes, sighing audibly as he wondered what could've possibly made him think this was a good idea. Finally, Greg shrugged, smirking considerably at Nick's irritation.

"Okay," he replied simply. "Should I meet you at your place, or do you want to meet somewhere?"

"Meet me at my place," Nick said, scribbling down his address on a post-it. "Nine o'clock."

"It's a date," Greg said, and winked as he took the small slip of paper, his slender fingers brushing against Nick's as he did so. Nick shoved his hands into his pockets, his flesh seared where Greg had touched him, fire spreading up his arms and down his spine. Watched Greg stuff the folded note into his jeans' pocket and then dexterous hands were shooing him away. "Now get out of my lab, you're stinking the place up and I've got enough work to do without having to sweep up the dirt you're leaving behind."

* * *

"Why do you need my DNA again if I was the one who was attacked?" Ian Reed asked, as they stood in the lobby of the crime lab. Nick had called the young man to recollect a sample, waiting for him to come in before leaving for the day. Of course, Nick had showered first, scrubbing the sticky, stinky desert off of him until his skin was pink and raw.

"It's just so we can rule you out when we compare it to other samples we find," Nick clarified, pulling a swab out of his pocket, but Ian's perpetually suspicious stare told Nick he wasn't exactly buying it. "Assaults are messy, and there tends to be a lot of evidence. If we know what's yours we can separate it from the perpetrators."

"All right," Ian conceded, opening his mouth as Nick raised the swab to his lips.

"Thanks," Nick said, nodding. He caught sight of a shock of blond, spiked hair and a brightly-colored shirt out of the corner of his eye and reached out his arm as he called out to Greg's unmistakable retreating form. "Hey, Sanders! Can you take this for me?"

Greg paused, tensing before turning on his heel. He glared at Nick as he approached the two men, grounding out through his teeth, "I'm not busy or anything."

"You look a little young to be a cop," Ian commented, his blue eyes shining with mischief as he regarded Greg. The interest caught Nick off guard and he narrowed his eyes as he frowned, watching Greg carefully to gauge his reaction.

"I'm not a cop," Greg responded, offering Ian a crooked smile. "But I'm not too young to be one."

"What do you do here?" the other man asked.

"Greg is my DNA analyst," Nick answered for him, and while it was true Greg was CSI Stokes' DNA analyst, Greg certainly didn't belong to everyday Nick. Although he hoped Ian would get the hint, and he shifted his shoulders towards the interloper unconsciously, almost as if to wedge his way between the two younger men. "He processes our evidence."

"Cute _and_ smart," Ian stated, as if it were a casual observation, and Nick was horrified to see Greg actually blushing for what had to be the first time since Nick had known him.

"I'll get this processed right away," Greg said to Nick, ignoring Ian's comment, and Nick had to wonder what Greg's reaction would've been if he and Ian had been alone.

"Will you call me if you find anything?" Ian should've asked Nick, the investigator in charge of his case, but his eyes were focused on Greg.

"I don't...do stuff like that," Greg replied. "I just run lab tests."

"Will you call me anyway?"

Greg was stunned into silence – another first, Nick noticed, as he swallowed down his jealousy, creating a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. Greg glanced at Nick, then back to Ian, laughing nervously as he raked his fingers through his hair. First blushing, and now this? Nick wondered if he had ever caused Greg to have that kind of reaction, wondered what he would have to do to get it. Wondered if there was anything he even could do, if Greg would even respond at all.

"I need to get back to my lab," Greg stated, and with one last look at Ian, the young man was gone.

Nick forced a smile at the handsome, young man before him. "The detective in charge of your case will contact you if we find anything."

"Sure," Ian said, his gaze returning to Nick. He hesitated briefly, his lips in a tight line before he cocked an eyebrow. "Is he really..._your_ DNA analyst?"

"He's the crime lab's DNA analyst," Nick replied, although he knew that wasn't the answer Ian had been looking for. But when Ian quirked a knowing smile, Nick considered that perhaps it was exactly what the young man had wanted to hear.

"Thanks for all your help, Mr. Stokes," Ian stated, glancing down the hallway towards the DNA lab before he left.

* * *

After a day spent fitfully trying to sleep, trying not to think about Ian and Greg's reaction to him, trying to forget that Greg was not _his _DNA analyst, trying to remember that he didn't _want_ Greg to be his, Nick spent entirely too much time figuring out what to wear for his planned evening with the young lab rat. Spent entirely too much time in the mirror fixing his hair. Spent entirely too much time arranging and rearranging his kitchen, pulling out liquor and setting it conveniently on the counter before thinking it might seem like he'd put too much thought into it so he put it back in the cabinet. Spent entirely too much time wondering where the hell he was going to take Greg that didn't scream _date_ or _desperate_ or _fuck me now_.

Because that wasn't the point of this. The point was to get to know Greg and ease the tension between them. To become friends. Since apparently they weren't that, according to Greg. Although, when Nick considered it, he supposed that was true. They had never spent time together outside of work before. Hell, Nick didn't even have Greg's phone number. Didn't know Greg's favorite foods or drink of choice. What Greg liked to do in his spare time, besides scuba diving and latex, either of which may or may not have been true based on the various tales Greg liked to spin to impress people.

To impress Nick.

He forced the thought out of his mind, rolling his eyes at his own audacity. Sat down on the couch with a little time to spare before nine o'clock, tuning in to the movie _Armageddon_ on his new satellite television. And, sure, Ben Affleck was kind of terrible, and the plot was riddled with scientific inaccuracies, but Bruce Willis had this rugged-good-looks and scruffy-charm thing going on, and the movie _was_ pretty entertaining.

Just as Ben Affleck was beginning to sob uncontrollably in the space ship, Nick's doorbell rang, startling him. Quickly, he stood, rushing to the door before pausing briefly to give the impression that he hadn't just rushed to the door. Checked his image in the decorative mirror on his wall before pulling it open casually.

"Hey," Nick said with a smile, stepping aside so Greg could enter. The young man looked great in a button down shirt and faded jeans, his hair tousled just so, and Nick couldn't help but wonder how it would look after he ran his fingers through it.

"Nice place!" Greg commented with enthusiasm, placing a grocery bag that appeared to contain liquor and a bottle of soda on the counter between the kitchen and living room. "So American male. It's like testosterone overload! What's the green T on the rug stand for?"

"Texas," Nick replied, compressing his amused grin.

"Makes sense," Greg conceded. "I have a C on my carpet for California."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Are you done making fun of my taste in décor?"

Greg nodded, before turning his attention to the television. "Are you watching _Armageddon_?"

"I was just flipping through channels," Nick stated hastily. "I just got this new satellite service. Luna Cable. One hundred and fifty channels."

"Do you watch them all?" Greg asked, seemingly dubious at the thought someone could have that many channels.

"Well, no," Nick responded. "But the point is to have options."

"And you chose _Armageddon_?"

"Are you going to give me a hard time all night?" Nick asked, his voice perilously close to a whine.

"No, no, sorry," Greg quickly back peddled, moving into the kitchen. He opened and closed several cabinet doors until he found two glasses, then snatched up the grocery bag. Make yourself at home, Nick thought idly. "I brought some Crown and Coke. Is that cool with you?"

"Whiskey's dangerous," Nick stated, placing his hands on the counter, peering at Greg over the division between them. "I was going to drive."

"You can have one drink and still drive," Greg said, pouting considerably. Nick began to shake his head, until he felt a warm hand on his, squeezing gently. "Come on, Nicky. Live dangerously."

He looked up into those expressive brown eyes, full of mischief and ill-intentions. Saw that smile, just the corner of Greg's mouth upturned. Nodding as if to encourage the suggestion as he ducked his head and looked up from beneath dark eyelashes in the way that always made Nick's heart flutter. Nick cleared his throat, pulling his hands away and stuffing them into his pockets, trying to remember if he'd ever heard Greg call him that before.

"Sure," Nick finally replied, remembering his voice. "Just one won't hurt. And then we're leaving."

One turned into two. Which turned into three. Which turned into...however many drinks one could get out of a 750mL bottle, and once it was empty they broke into the Maker's Mark in Nick's freezer. Talking about sports and gossiping about coworkers, telling jokes and laughing and everything in between.

Nick had always been the kind of drunk that relaxed a little more with each drink, his drawl curling around his vowels a little harder than usual. And while Nick prided himself on his self-control when sober, when he was drunk he tended to get a little emotional and it was definitely easier to get information out of him he would usually keep to himself.

Greg, however, appeared to be the kind of drunk that talked even more than he usually did, at a higher volume than he usually did, with more enthusiasm than he usually did. Nick hadn't believed it was possible for Greg to exude even more nervous energy before tonight. He was also easier to laugh and cuss. The giggling was amusing, but that dirty mouth was kind of a turn on, and Nick was finding it more and more difficult to listen to him talk as the night went on. He kept imagining that mouth whispering dirty, sweet nothings into Nick's ear in the dark. Imagined what he could to do to render Greg speechless.

They never made it to any bars or clubs, and at some point the movie _Armageddon_ had begun to play again. Nick was in the wing chair – calculatingly isolating himself– with Greg splayed out on the couch, his long fingers clutching a rock glass half full of ice and whiskey.

"Fucking Ben Affleck," Greg spat, the words clumsily falling out of his mouth. He indicated the television with a flourish, spilling half of his drink on his shirt, although he didn't seem to notice. "How is he famous? I don't get it. It's like...he's like Keanu Reeves."

"What do you have against Keanu Reeves?" Nick asked almost defensively.

"Don't tell me you like Keanu Reeves," Greg said, frowning as he placed his drink on the coffee table heavily. "He's like a robot. Bruce Willis is kind of cool, though. He's all, like, rugged and shit."

"You like rugged guys?" Nick asked, immediately horrified at his slip of composure, and quickly busied himself with hastily swallowing the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

"Yeah," Greg said, pointing to the television. "I mean, look at him. He's fucking cool, right? He's wearing a tank top and he still looks cool. I can't wear tank tops. I bet you can wear tank tops and look cool."

"I wouldn't know," Nick responded, shaking his head at the bizarre conversation. "I don't own any tank tops."

"Shame the world will never know," Greg murmured with a yawn. "Man, I'm tired. Work has been stressful with Ecklie firing two people from Days. That's fucking ridiculous. Like, I know I'm awesome and can process three times as many samples as one tech, but I shouldn't be punished for it. That's like being punished for being handsome, right? And I don't get punished for being handsome, do I, Nicky?"

There it was again. The second time Greg had ever called him that, but this time he said it like one of his dirty cuss words. Nick narrowed his eyes as the young man raked both hands through his hair before reaching for the sky, arching his back and stretching his legs long. His shirt rode up, revealing a flat, tan stomach juxtaposed to pale skin at his waist and Nick wanted to see what was below that tan line. Greg rested back against the couch, his half-lidded eyes focused on Nick. Lips slightly parted in a near pout, long fingers clutching the couch cushions underneath him.

Nick squirmed under his gaze, shifting his eyes to focus on the television. "You can crash here if you're tired. On the couch, I mean."

"Where else would I sleep?" Greg asked, smirking. "Besides the couch?"

Nick cleared his throat. "I don't know, you were so impressed with my rug earlier."

"I don't eat carpet, Nick."

Nick laughed nervously, the double entendre not lost on him. "Not your thing, huh?"

"A gentleman never tells," Greg said, shrugging almost impassively, and then returned his attention back to the movie. "Not tired enough to sleep yet but I do have to use the bathroom."

The young man rose from the couch hesitantly, clutching the armrest for support when his body swayed forward. He smiled into his chest, a whisper of a laugh escaping his lips, seemingly amused by his own unsteadiness. Moved away from the couch and his shin caromed off of the coffee table and he fell forward into Nick's wing chair and nearly on top of him.

"Ohmygodimsodrunk," Greg breathed in one word, his fingers gripping the back of Nick's chair, the other hand on Nick's thigh. Nick stiffened immediately, his shoulders rigid, his body tense, the smell of Greg's cologne and alcohol and the feel of Greg's warm breath against his cheek. And for a moment, neither of them moved. And maybe if Nick could've taken his eyes away from the ruggedly handsome Bruce Willis, he could've looked at Greg. Could've pushed him back onto the couch, pushed him into the cushions, kissed that filthy mouth and shown him what a real rugged man was capable of.

But he didn't do that. He stayed focused on the meteorite on television until Greg scoffed quietly, almost as if he were surprised.

"Sorry," Greg muttered, removing himself from Nick and continuing to the bathroom.

Nick's breath exploded from him when he heard the bathroom door close roughly, his heart ramming against his ribcage. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, heard the toilet flush and the sink running, and then Greg returned, sitting down on the couch heavily.

"Well," Greg commented almost casually. "This isn't how I expected my night to end."

Nick swallowed hard. "How did you expect it to end?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Nick dared to look at Greg. The young man was watching him with narrowed eyes. Glaring. And then his expression changed, his lips curling into a smile, but it wasn't right. His eyes were still dark.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Greg asked, taunting him, before turning to the television.

Nick frowned, his eyes finding the television once more, forcing himself to focus on whatever movie was coming on next. Some Tom Cruise spy action movie that everyone had been talking about, but Nick had never been interested. Still wasn't, could only see the young man in his peripheral vision. It wasn't long before he heard soft snoring, and only then did Nick allow himself to relax. The night was over, Greg was asleep, and tomorrow they would go back to the crime lab and return to their respective roles.

Quietly, Nick rose from the wing chair, turning off the television. He went into the kitchen to make himself another drink, intending on taking it to his bedroom, but found himself sitting once again in the living room, listening to Greg breathe. Closed his eyes and leaned his head back, idly wondering what it would be like to hear that every night, to feel a warm body beside him. Greg's body. Wondered if Greg would ever be interested in something like that, wondered if he could ever tame the wild and carefree young man.

Wondered what the hell he was thinking.

Wearily, Nick rubbed his eyes before raking his fingers through his hair. He stood again, grabbing a blanket and pillow from the hall closet and returning to Greg's sleeping form.

"Greg," he called softly, gently shaking his shoulder. "Hey, man, I got you a blanket."

The other man only murmured incoherently, pushing Nick's hands away. Nick sighed, draping the blanket over his companion. He snaked his hand behind Greg's shoulders, pulling him up by the nape of his neck to shove a pillow under his head. Rested him gently back down onto the couch and kept his hand on the warm skin. Moved his palm to Greg's cheek, brushed his thumb across smooth, soft lips. Felt Greg turn into his touch, heard a soft sigh and couldn't tell which man had emitted the sound.

Nick snatched his hand away, frowning, his heart hammering in his chest. God, what was wrong with him? What had he been thinking? This night had been a terrible idea. Getting closer to Greg was not the solution. What he needed was more space.

* * *

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Breaking glass and loud cursing awoke Nick the following afternoon. Startled, he rose from his bed and quickly stepped out of the bedroom, traversing the hall and entering the living room to find Greg tiptoeing gingerly around broken glass wearing only his boxers. It was all Nick could do not to look. Not to sweep his eyes over those broad shoulders or watch way the muscles of his back moved beneath his smooth skin. To follow his spine down to a slim waist and strong, impossibly long legs. Absolutely, sinfully, young and gorgeous.

Okay, he looked. And briefly wondered why Greg wore all those long-sleeved button down shirts and baggy jeans when he had all this to offer underneath.

"What happened?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice before the other man could catch him ogling.

Greg gasped, spinning around quickly to face Nick. "Jesus, you scared me. I broke one of your glasses. I'm so sorry, I'll replace it."

"It's just a glass," Nick assured him, waving away his concern. He grabbed a dustpan from the kitchen and moved to the pile of glass, bending down to sweep up the mess as Greg quickly began gathering his clothes. They were lying in a heap on the floor by one end of the couch; he must've taken them off after Nick had gone to bed. He watched the young man begin to dress hastily. "Where's the fire, G?"

"Sorry," Greg apologized, for the second time that morning. "I told Ecklie I'd come in at two today to help with the back log, and now it's almost one and I have no time to get home and shower or eat or change, and these clothes are all wrinkled and I think I must've spilled some of my drink last night on my shirt because it stinks like a whiskey barrel. And then I broke your glass, and this day sucks already."

Nick smiled up at him from the floor. "Relax. You can shower here and I'll make you some coffee and something to eat, okay?"

"I don't really have time."

"It's only fifteen minutes to work from here," Nick stated. "You have plenty of time."

"I don't have another shirt to change into," Greg continued to protest, his voice dangerously close to a whine.

"You can wear one of mine," Nick offered, and Greg looked at him as if he had just suggested grabbing one of the trash bags from under the sink and wearing that to work. "My wardrobe can't be that bad. I do have to warn you, though: dry cleaner's been losing my stuff lately, so I don't have a lot to choose from right now."

Greg seemed to consider the predicament he was in, before sighing. "Fine. But I get to pick the shirt."

* * *

It had been nearly three o'clock the following morning before Nick would see Greg again. He'd managed to pass off all of his evidence to someone else to bring to the DNA lab, and while he was sure Greg would catch on sooner or later, for now, Nick was determined to stick to his guns and put some space between them. At least until he got a hold of his ridiculous obsession. Out of sight, out of mind.

So, after successfully avoiding Greg throughout his entire shift, Nick was surprised when he walked into the break room to grab some coffee and saw the young man sitting at one of the chairs, his head in his hands, eyes closed. Still wearing Nick's shirt, who became acutely aware of a pleasant sense of ownership at the sight of his clothes on Greg's body. As if they were in high school and Greg was wearing Nick's varsity football jacket. It didn't help that Greg had chosen the _Save a horse, ride a cowboy_ novelty tee-shirt that one of Nick's ex-girlfriends had given to him as a joke, even though Nick had warned him that it wasn't the most appropriate work attire.

Greg had not seen Nick yet, he could still make his escape. Nick paused at the doorway, half in/half out. The irony did not escape him.

"Greg!" Catherine barked from the other doorway to the break room, startling both Greg and Nick, who had no choice but to enter the room. If he ran now, Catherine would only assume he was running from her or Greg, and Nick didn't need her sharp nose sniffing anywhere around him right now.

"Catherine," Greg breathed, leaning back in his chair and offering her a halfhearted smile, although she didn't seem to notice. "It's always nice to hear you call my name."

"I need you to run this now," she stated, tossing a small evidence bag onto the table. "Before anyone else's stuff."

"Anything for you," he crooned, but she was already gone. Greg placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes before raking both hands through his hair. He looked more exhausted than Nick had ever seen, his usual sunny brightness only a dim flickering candle tonight. Before Nick could stop himself, he reached out a hand, touching Greg's shoulder in an attempt at comfort.

"Nick," Greg said with a yawn, looking up at him from his seat at the table. "I haven't seen you all night. What do you need?"

"Nothing," Nick responded, a little affronted at the idea that Greg thought Nick would only speak to him if he needed something. He didn't remember being that kind of guy. "I just wanted to..." _comfort you kiss you fuck you _"...see how you were doing. Make sure you aren't running yourself ragged."

Greg seemed puzzled for only a moment before he smiled, and while it was certainly a tired one, it was at least genuine, and Nick didn't think he could've looked more endearing. "I'm busy as hell. But I've always got time for you."

Nick felt heat creeping into his cheeks, opening his mouth to speak but he couldn't seem to find the words. He should've left the break room when he had the chance. They shouldn't be talking like this. They were only coworkers. They weren't even friends.

"Greg!" Catherine crowed from the hallway, exasperation evident in her voice.

"I'm coming!" Greg shouted. He offered Nick an exaggerated look of irritation before grinning. "Gotta go. Nice talk. Hey, I saw we both have off this Thursday. Want to do something?"

"Uh, no," Nick said quickly, and Greg frowned. Hastily, he tried to think of any lie that would suffice. "I mean, I can't. The schedule's wrong. I switched my shift as a favor."

"Oh. Well, maybe we can have breakfast one day this week?" Greg asked, his voice so hopeful, but Nick could hear the wavering of insecurity.

"Yeah, we'll see," Nick replied, nodding, and he smiled but it didn't feel right.

"Okay," Greg conceded quietly, and Nick hoped he would soon forget what it felt like to blow that dim flickering candle out while wondering who the hell he would find to switch shifts with on Thursday.

* * *

Nick was almost sure life was returning to normal. He'd turned Greg down only one more time before the young man stopped asking, before Greg had seemed to finally understand that the one evening they'd spent together had meant nothing. Nick had only been making good on his promise of a drink in exchange for bumping up his evidence to the front of the line, and now they would go back to whatever it was they were before. Friends, Nick thought, before hastily amending that to coworkers. They had never been friends, like Greg had said, right?

He was walking down the hallway to pick up test results from Trace when he spotted a familiar face standing at reception, smiling disarmingly at Judy. He nearly passed the young man before turning back to the desk with a puzzled expression.

"Mr. Reed?" Nick asked.

"Mr. Stokes," Ian greeted, aiming his absurdly charming smile at Nick. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm fine," he replied, his brow knotted. "What are you doing here? Did the detective assigned to your case call you? Or was there something you remembered, or...?"

"Uh, no," the young man said, casually. "I just wanted to check up on my case. See if you had any updates for me."

"I don't, sorry," Nick apologized. "But we'll call you if anything comes up."

"Great. Thanks," Ian said, and now that the exchange was over, this should've been the part of the conversation where Ian left, and yet he stood there. As if he were waiting for Nick to leave first. Nick frowned slightly, before Ian seemed to realize his faux pas. "I guess I'll be going then. Thanks again."

And then he was gone.

"That's funny," Judy commented. "He didn't ask for you."

Nick peered down at the small receptionist. "Who did he ask for?"

"He didn't ask for anyone," she replied. "I remembered his face because, you know..." She smiled sheepishly. Nick scowled. "Anyway, I remembered him, and asked if he wanted to see you. When he said no, I asked if he wanted me to look up the detective assigned to him, and he said no again. Then you came up."

"Huh," was all Nick could think to say, filing the bizarre encounter away in the back of his mind.

The next day, Nick found the novelty tee-shirt Greg had borrowed folded neatly on the shelf inside of his locker. He wasn't sure how Greg had gotten his combination. He wasn't sure why he was so disheartened to see it there. He wasn't sure why he slammed the locker door so hard.

He wasn't sure why, sometimes, after a hard night scraping bodies off of pavements and asking mothers why they had left their now dead children alone with a convicted felon and separating body parts from organic material from trash into labeled bins, he would pull out that tee-shirt when no one was looking. Press the soft fabric to his nose and inhale chemicals and cologne and coffee and Gr–

"Hard night?" Warrick asked, and Nick hastily shoved the tee-shirt into the back of his locker before closing it.

"Yeah. About to head out."

"Me too," Warrick stated. "Want to grab some chow before heading home?"

"You know what, that sounds like a great idea, man," Nick said, hoping spending some time with Warrick would take his mind off of a few things. One thing in particular. "How about that omelet place that just opened on West Charleston?"

"Sounds good to me. You're driving."

"No way, it's your turn to drive."

One game of rock, paper, scissors later, Nick was closing the door to his SUV with Warrick entering the passenger's side. As Nick turned the engine over, Warrick leaned forward in his seat and squinted as he peered into the parking lot.

"Hmm," he murmured. "I guess the rumors are true. Check it out."

Nick glanced at Warrick before following his gaze, catching sight of two men between a set of cars. One man leaning his back against the side of one of the cars, the other leaning forward into him, their bodies flush. Fingers clutching at the lapels of a collared shirt, the other man's hands resting easily on slim hips. They were smiling, laughing, leaning closer, and then they were kissing and Nick had to look away.

He leaned back in his seat, his heart pounding between his ears. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his breath coming in short bursts. Greg, standing in the parking lot of the LVPD crime lab, kissing another man. Kissing Ian Reed.

"You okay, Nick?" Warrick asked, his voice uncertain.

"No!" Nick exclaimed, and immediately recovered. "I mean, that's one of the victims from those assault cases I'm working on."

"Damn," Warrick breathed. "Not cool, man. Somebody should have a talk with that kid."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Somebody _will_."

Nick couldn't stop thinking about it. About those two bodies standing close to each other in the parking lot. About what happened once he and Warrick had driven away. Wondering if the two young men had gone back to Greg's place, or maybe Ian's, as he ate an egg-white omelet that could've been made out of cardboard for all knew. Thought about their two, lithe bodies writhing against one another, long fingers clutching at hard cocks as they moaned into each other's mouths.

"You're really mad about this," Warrick commented, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It's not professional!" Nick cried, with more force than he'd intended, and Warrick held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay," the other man said, and returned to eating his breakfast with an amused grin.

It was the following evening that Nick found Greg in the break room washing dishes in the sink. He stood in the doorway, his jaw set, and took a few deep breaths when he felt himself about to fly off the handle. He needed to impress upon Greg the importance of following procedure. The importance of adhering to workplace policies. The importance of self-restraint. It wasn't because he was jealous. It wasn't because Ian Reed wasn't half the man that Nick was. Nick didn't even know Ian Reed, with all those pretty angles on his face and that perpetual smirk that shouldn't have been appealing but it was.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, as he strode quickly into the room to stand beside Greg at the kitchen counter.

"Washing dishes," Greg stated, casting Nick an uncertain glance. "I wanted some coffee and all the cups are dirty. I always end up washing five hundred cups every night. I don't understand it. These people are grown. How do they not know how to wash a cup?"

Greg was babbling; a nervous habit. He knew what this was about, and that it certainly wasn't regarding dirty dishware. Nick crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the counter, satisfied at the anxious energy emanating from the young man beside him.

"I'm talking about Ian Reed. My victim?"

"Oh," Greg said, drawing the word out into one long vowel. "That."

"What do you think you're doing?" Nick asked, stepping impossibly close to Greg, feeling the young man shift under his gaze. "You know departmental policy on dating anyone involved in an active case."

"He was assaulted over a month ago," Greg argued. "If we weren't allowed to date anyone that had ever been assaulted in Las Vegas that wouldn't leave anybody left. The case probably won't even get solved."

Nick bristled. "_I'm_ working on that case, and it will get solved. You know who else worked on that case? You. Don't you think that creates a conflict of interest?"

Greg paused in his dish washing. "What do you mean?"

"If we catch the guys that did this," Nick explained through gritted teeth, "and we take all of our evidence to court, and they find out that the person who processed all the DNA evidence is the victim's _boyfriend – _which they will find out – they would throw all of that evidence out, and Ian's attackers would walk."

"I didn't think about that."

"That's right, Greg," Nick snarled. "You didn't think. That's why I'm out in the field and you're stuck in a lab."

Greg turned to Nick, mouth agape, his brown eyes afire with anger and shock and hurt. Maybe Nick shouldn't have said that, and immediately he felt the guilt in the pit of his stomach. He expected Greg to come up with some witty remark or cuss him out or, hell, even strike him, but instead, he only turned back to the dishes, scrubbing vigorously. Almost as if he accepted it to be true, and suddenly Nick felt so childish, like a bully picking on some kid at school, kicking him while was down.

"Greg," Nick said, softly this time, but the other man cut him off.

"I get it," Greg snapped roughly. "Point taken, okay, Nick? You can stop worrying about it and get back to all of your important investigative work. If you need me, I'll be in my _lab_."

Nick sighed, rolling his eyes at his own tactlessness as he turned and walked away. If he hadn't been sure before that Greg didn't think they were friends, he could at least take comfort in the fact that there was no mistaking it now.

* * *

To be continued. Please leave me some reviews so I know how I'm doing! Come on, don't make me beg!


	5. Chapter 5

He hovered in the doorway of the hospital room, the quiet whirring of machinery and beeping of monitors assuring Nick that the unconscious man in the bed was still alive. The physician on call had informed him that Michael Webster had sustained multiple head injuries, enough that his brain had shut down. They were only keeping him alive until his parents arrived in town. Twenty-two years old with hair that had been blond before it had been stained red with blood, and as Nick raised his camera to the latest victim of brutal assaults, as he focused one eye into the viewfinder, pressed the shutter release button, there was a moment right before the flash that the young man on the bed almost looked like Greg.

He shivered at the thought, pondered the possibility. It had happened to Ian Reed. It had happened to this man. It could happen to anyone. Anyone young and cruising the gay clubs in town. Perhaps the assailants were trying to send a message. Nick heard the complaints trickling down from upper management; business was in sharp decline, patrons afraid for their lives, for their friends, their loved ones.

Michael Webster should have stayed at home. Wouldn't have needed to if Nick could just find these punks. Carefully, he combed the young man's body for any trace evidence he could find. Everything would be contaminated from the hospital, but he could only hope that something – just one thing – could lead him to making a connection. That was all it took most of the time.

An oily substance on his face that could've been medical salve. Organic material, probably dirt and grass and whatever else had been on the ground was combed out of his hair and carefully placed into a bindle. Fingernail scrapings. Clothes dumped into evidence bags.

Nick placed a hand on top of the dead man's wrist. Squeezed gently, reassuringly, and left.

* * *

Upon returning that evening, Nick placed his evidence on an examining table and began to log everything into the box of files he was quickly accumulating thanks to the multiplying assaults. He pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping anything in one of these evidence bags and bindles would reveal something useful. These people were getting bolder, more violent, and now someone would probably end up dead – at least a vegetable, and what was the difference? He couldn't figure out these attackers. They had to all have had clean records for no DNA or fingerprints to match in any of their systems.

"Maybe they're aliens," Nick said to himself, shaking his head with a rueful smile. He pulled another file, heading to the bottom of the log when his eyes caught Ian Reed's name scribbled in an unfamiliar handwriting. Dated recently. Curiously, he thumbed through the file. All DNA evidence had been reprocessed one week ago. Why? Had something gone wrong with the results? Had his evidence been compromised? Why would Greg request some guy from Days that Nick didn't even know to handle Nick's evidence without consulting him first?

Nick wasn't sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion. He was an investigator, after all.

Quickly, Nick strode to the DNA lab, pausing at the doorway to watch Greg as he carefully measured and mixed chemicals into a small glass beaker. Stood in the doorway until the young man's eyes met his, and he knew – he _knew _Greg knew what this was about. He entered the room and tossed Ian Reed's case file onto the glass counter top, careful not to disturb the evidence Greg was currently processing.

"Care to explain this?" Nick asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Greg remained attuned to the test in front of him, but his eyes moved from the file to Nick and back to his work quickly.

"I was just doing what you said," Greg responded, almost casually, but Nick could feel the tension between them prickling at his skin like a live wire, causing the fine hair on his arms to stand on end.

"Excuse me?" he asked, after a beat. He couldn't possibly imagine a reality in which he'd asked Greg to send his evidence to someone who wasn't considered the best DNA technician outside of Quantico, Virginia.

"Well," Greg began, carefully placing his glass beaker onto the table – carefully avoiding Nick's eyes, "you said that if anyone found out that the person who had processed that evidence happened to also be the same person that was in a relationship with the victim, it would probably not be good for court, right?"

"That is what I said, yes."

"So...I had Edwardo from the day shift reprocess it, and now the problem is solved."

Nick was floored. He felt heat creeping up his neck and into his ears as he rubbed his jaw with one hand, feeling the anger bubbling up inside of him. He pressed his palm firmly against his lips, almost as if that alone could stop the rage from boiling over and spilling out of him in harsh, biting words. It didn't work.

"Let me get this straight," Nick said, his voice rising as he continued to speak. "You decided to waste the department's time and money so you could continue screwing some guy that you just met?"

"The damage was already done at that point," Greg offered timidly. "I was only trying to fix my mistake."

"Who gave you the authorization to do this?" Nick nearly yelled, visibly startling the young man.

"I asked Grissom," Greg replied hastily. Nick's eyes widened before his face contorted into a scowl, and when he took a step forward, he was satisfied to see Greg take a nervous step back. "I told him there was a possible conflict of interest and explained the situation and he said it was fine." Nick took another step forward. Greg took another step back, laughing uneasily. "In fact, he said he appreciated me being honest with him and thinking about the integrity of your case."

"The – the integrity of my – ?" Nick shook his head, and this time, when he took a step forward, Greg had nowhere to go. The younger man was pressed into the counter, wincing as the hard corner dug into the small of his back. His face was flushed, his eyes cast to the ground with a humility that Nick had never witnessed from the cocky lab rat before. He was practically trembling with fear, stammering as he tried to talk his way out of the situation. And then a thought struck Nick through the haze of red. This was the perfect image of his fantasy. To crawl beneath Greg's skin and break down all of his brashness and self-assurance until all Nick was left with was – _this._

And he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have. But, God, how long had he been wanting this? How long had he been waiting for it?

He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Greg's lab coat, roughly pulling him close. Greg threw his hands up in defense and closed his eyes as he braced for violence but it never came. A small sound of surprise escaped from between the young man's lips as they met Nick's in a forceful, bruising kiss. Nick was unyielding against the mouth captured beneath his, pushing his tongue into warm wetness, mapping his territory and claiming ownership. Possessively placed one hand at the nape of Greg's neck, gripping with strong fingers as he demanded more, demanded everything.

Pulled back as abruptly as he had begun, heard Greg gasp audibly, and then again when Nick grabbed a fistful of hair and forced Greg to look at him.

"Don't let me see you with him again," Nick growled, his eyes drawn to those kiss-swollen lips, his ears honed on the young man's harsh breathing, acutely aware of the searing heat of Greg's body against his. "Do you understand me?"

Greg only nodded, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock, and Nick could've laughed if he wasn't so fucking ready to jump right into the fire between them and allow the flames to consume him. He removed his hands from Greg, straightening out his lab coat and smoothing the wrinkles down as he took a step back. Left the shell-shocked lab rat standing there against the counter, and as he stepped out of the room and began down the hall, he allowed one last look beyond the glass walls of the lab to see Greg still standing there, touching his lips with trembling fingertips.

* * *

It was only later, when Nick was assisting Sara with collecting evidence in a hotel room that it finally hit him, what he'd done. He'd kissed Greg Sanders. Not just kissed, he'd literally cornered him and devoured his mouth and told him exactly who he belonged to as if he were some kind of crazed, infatuated stalker. Right in the middle of the DNA lab, which could have been a fishbowl for all those glass walls were worth. What if someone had seen them? Watched as Nick – straight-laced, by-the-book Level 3 Crime Scene Investigator Nick Stokes pushed Greg into a counter and shoved his tongue down his throat?

Nick Stokes was not impulsive. He owned a house and had gotten a reasonable rate on his mortgage due to his excellent credit score. He'd worn the same brand of underwear since he was sixteen and never let his oil change slip past three thousand miles. He went to the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays no matter what, and he _never _skipped leg day. He was predictable and level-headed and in control of his life. What the hell had he been thinking?

"Are you okay?" Sara asked, eyeing him curiously from the other side of the bed.

He sighed. "Have you ever let somebody get under your skin?"

"In a good way or a bad way?" she inquired, a knowing smirk forming at the corner of her mouth.

"I have no idea," he admitted, shaking his head forlornly.

"Well," she began, shrugging as she returned her gaze back to the wall before them. "If you're not sure, then maybe you should think about it before jumping in feet first."

"I feel like that's all I do," he stated, rubbing a cotton swab across the splatter of what was probably semen. "Think about it, I mean."

She looked at him again, considering him for a moment too long. Her eyes clouded with something he couldn't quite read, and he frowned slightly.

"Just don't think about it too long," she said finally, focused once again on her work. "People get tired of waiting, Nick. Waiting breeds...resentment."

Nick nodded thoughtfully, wondering briefly from what personal experience Sara had drawn that sentiment. He thought about her words for the rest of the evening as they worked on some bizarre case of poisoning involving a husband and wife and secretary that may or may not have been a mistress. He wondered if there was a resolution in which he could win. Jump in feet first, as Sara had put it, but what if he wasn't ready? Then what if he made Greg wait too long, until Greg grew tired of waiting, until Greg began to resent him?

And what was it that he wanted exactly? Was this really just something he had to get out of his system? A purely sexual desire that could be extinguished with just a casual fuck and then he could move on? He'd certainly been through this before, with Kristi Hopkins. Felt that chemistry, felt that fire, had to touch, had to get burned. He remembered how messily that had ended, and thought he had learned his lesson then. Remembered the age-old saying, the one he'd promised himself he'd live by from then on: Don't shit where you eat.

Yet here he was again. Unable to fight the urge to touch that fire until he burst into flames.

Maybe he should just talk to Greg, explain that this was a bad idea. Remind him about Kristi. Remind him how office romances could end, that they could wind up hating each other, and then how were they supposed to work together after that? Sure, everyone liked to believe they were a professional, that they would act appropriately at work despite personal feelings, but what if they ended up like Brenda and Bobby Dawson? A nasty divorce, and now Bobby was working the night shift while she got to remain on days because they couldn't spend one day without ending up at each other's throats. If it could happen to sweet Bobby Dawson, it could happen to anybody.

But then he'd think about Ian Reed's hands all over Greg, and his stomach would turn so violently he swore he'd throw up.

He just needed more time to think. Not too much time. Just a little bit of time. Away from Greg, with no distractions. So he threw himself into his work, resorting to the ever reliable and possibly adolescent tactic of avoidance. It was amazing how one could hide within the maze of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, especially when there was the never ending steady stream of crimes being committed each night.

Sooner or later, Nick knew his number would be up. He could only avoid Greg for so long before they inevitably ran into each other. He'd managed to dodge one bullet already, oddly spotting him in the LVPD computer lab, but the young man had been so distracted by his research into their poisoning suspects he hadn't noticed Nick's double-take in the doorway. Later, Sara had gushed about Greg (once again) breaking the case, and he'd told himself that Greg had gone the extra mile to impress Sara, not him.

Then, finally, Nick had been in one of the lab's garages, processing an SUV for one of Grissom's cases when it happened. He'd been focused so deeply on the contents of the glove box, the dashboard, the center console, that he hadn't even heard anyone approach.

"Wow, is this the car the guy was killed in?" Greg asked, sticking his head into the doorway of the vehicle, effectively scaring the shit out of Nick.

"He was killed in the warehouse and don't sneak up on a person like that," Nick stated with irritation, as his heart returned to normal sinus rhythm.

"Well, now you know how I feel like, ten times a day," Greg said, and it was not lost on Nick that he was now trapped inside of the SUV with Greg blocking his exit. Neither was the proximity of the younger man, his warm body and the scent of his cologne and citrusy hair product overwhelming Nick's senses. "So what's this Millander guy's thing?"

"He saw his dad killed when he was a kid over some money dispute," Nick replied, bracing for the conversation he knew was coming. Surely, Greg didn't sneak up on him and corner him only to ask about the case Nick was assisting Grissom with.

"Ends up killing guys himself," Nick continued, catching sight of something in the center console of the SUV. "Check that out. Eight digit number with a dash?"

"Huh," the other man murmured. "Pep Boys receipt? Dry cleaning tags?"

"Well, whatever it is, it happened during the summer. Paper only burns itself into plastic in high levels of heat."

"So what kind of paper item would you shove into the center console in the heat of summer?"

"Something you didn't want," Nick speculated, "or something you had to keep."

"Why haven't you called me?"

Nick smiled into his chest. There it was. He looked up at Greg, into those intense brown eyes clouded with apprehension, and all the words he'd been practicing for the past week just fell away.

"I don't have your phone number," Nick finally replied, almost casually.

"You don't?"

"No. Do you have mine?"

"Oh. I guess not," Greg said quietly, and his posture relaxed only briefly before he crossed his arms over his chest, pouting considerably. "That still doesn't explain why you're avoiding me."

"I haven't been avoiding you," Nick stated lamely. "I've been busy. I do occasionally work around here, you know."

Greg tossed him a look that told Nick he wasn't buying it. The young man opened his mouth to argue further when thankfully, mercifully, Nick's pager went off. He made a hasty grab for it and read the message on the display.

"Pow wow," Nick said, shuffling past Greg to get out of the car, careful not to touch him. "We'll talk later."

Quickly, Nick headed out of the garage, was almost out the door when he heard Greg calling from behind him.

"I haven't broken up with Ian, you know."

Nick paused in the doorway, his shoulders tensing. And he didn't know why it bothered him so much that after making a rather bold and public declaration of interest in the young man, that after asking Greg – _demanding_ – that he never see him with that Ian Reed ever again, that after rendering Greg speechless after giving him a kiss that Nick had believed was an eleven on a scale of one to ten, that Greg still had not told this guy to fuck off.

He turned to face the other man, whose chin was raised almost definitely like a child challenging his parent, but Nick could see the uncertainty in those expressive eyes that always betrayed him.

"Why not?" Nick asked, speaking before his brain had the chance to filter his words.

"I don't know if I have a reason to yet," Greg replied simply, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets, eyes casting to the floor. Nick set his jaw, turning to leave again when Greg added hastily, "I've done this before, Nick. This whole walk on the wild side, dirty little secret thing. I don't want that. Not with you."

"What do you want?" Nick dared to ask over his shoulder.

"All or nothing what do you want?"

Nick spun in surprise, blinking at the frankness of the question. Not that he hadn't been expecting it, especially when he had asked first, but Greg breathed the words all in one sentence, rushing as if to address the issue before Nick could escape. Cornered him in the SUV and now pushing his agenda when Nick wasn't ready, when he didn't have time to have a proper conversation. This wasn't the way Nick worked. He was controlled and calculating and why did Greg think he could just throw all this chaos into his life without consulting him first?

"I'm tired of this back and forth nonsense," Greg continued, at Nick's silence. "I've tried to be patient, because it's you, and I've wanted this for so long – _so long. _You flirt with me day in and day out, and I live with that, because I don't want to push you. You invite me to your house and I literally throw myself at you and you do nothing, and I live with that because I don't want to push you. You kiss me in the middle of my lab and then avoid me like some immature teenager, and I live with that because I don't want to push you. But my patience is running out, Nick. I have feelings too, and I'm not going to let you screw with me until you ultimately decide that you're too scared to be with me or with a man or with anyone in general or whatever it is that's going on with you."

Nick didn't respond. He didn't have the words. Because those expressive brown eyes didn't only betray Greg, they betrayed Nick too; they saw right through him.

Greg barked with mirthless laughter. "Oh, I've got your number, Nick. When you're done acting like a child and start remembering that you're a man, don't come crawling back to me because I've already got one."

He felt Greg's stinging words as the young man brushed past him, grazing his shoulder forcefully on his way out of the garage. He felt Greg's stinging words as he stood in one of the conference rooms with Warrick, Sara, Catherine and Grissom to discuss their current case. Felt Greg's stinging words as he opened his locker to see that brown novelty tee-shirt sitting on the shelf in a rumpled ball. Felt them as he got into his truck to drive home, felt a heat spreading from his gut as he sat in his driveway with the engine idling. Felt it spreading to his limbs and his face and his brain. Felt heat in his cheeks, shame and humility at those stinging words.

"_When you're done acting like a child and start remembering that you're a man, don't come crawling back to me because I've already got one."_

Nick was nothing if not a man. He was from Texas. He knew how to ride a horse and had placed third in his county's team roping event during the rodeo his senior year of high school. He'd played football for the Aggies in college and joined a fraternity and drank an entire case of beer one night at a party because he'd been dared to. He pissed standing up and didn't apologize for taking the newspaper into the bathroom, not even at work. He was a man. He was a real man. And this – this _Ian Reed_ that could've been a fucking model for Gap or Calvin Klein or whoever the hell had that billboard with the underwear model in midtown New York – he was only half the man Nick was. He would bet his entire paycheck that Ian didn't even drink beer. He probably drank those fruity premixed cocktail drinks that came in glass bottles and had almost 0% alcohol content. Nick could subdue him in one, two maneuvers max, drop him right to the fucking floor within seconds.

"_When you're done acting like a child and start remembering that you're a man, don't come crawling back to me because I've already got one."_

He couldn't stop hearing it, over and over again, those scathing, biting words that had been so snidely thrown at him by that irritating, infuriating, uncontrollable, cocky Greg Sanders. Who did he think he was talking like that? Nick wasn't some pretty, scrawny underwear model, he was a man, and as he put his truck in gear and reversed out of the driveway, he was going to make sure that Greg knew he was a real man if it was the last thing he did on this earth.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a little past nine o'clock in the morning, Nick pounded his fist against the front door of Greg's apartment as if he were a police officer serving a warrant. He had seen Greg's car in the parking lot, knew he was home, and suddenly the thought struck him that he might not be alone. Shit. What if Ian was in there too? What if they were eating breakfast together, or sleeping or – what if they were fucking?

Shit. When exactly had he lost his ability to think before acting? Before speaking? What was it about Greg that just made him lose his entire sense of self-control that he'd so carefully maintained his entire adult life?

He was about to sprint from the breezeway and back to his truck when the door opened to reveal an obviously just awoken Greg wearing only his boxers and an undershirt. The young man peered at him from beneath half-lidded eyes, quirking an eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

"What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" Nick asked, hesitantly. "Or are you not alone?"

Greg struggled to compress a smile as he opened the door exaggeratedly wide, gesturing for Nick to enter. He stepped inside, his eyes quickly surveying Greg's apartment. He'd never been here before, although he'd heard about the wild parties the young man liked to throw. It was clear to Nick that Greg made significantly more money than him or that he was aptly good at saving, if the large television and surround sound system were any indication. Dark furniture punctuated with splashes of bright colors: pillows, pictures, souvenirs from other states and countries. Sneakers haphazardly thrown in the entryway, jackets hanging over the oversized armchair, magazines and books and CDs strewn about featuring an array of various and sometimes surprising genres; messy, but Nick had already imagined as much before ever entering the apartment.

There was a small violin hanging on the wall that appeared to be several decades old, and Nick found himself drawn to it. The instrument was extensively decorated with a carved lion and mother of pearl inlay.

"_Hardingfele,"_ Greg said, in an accent Nick didn't recognize, and he turned to the other man curiously. "It's a Hardanger fiddle. Norwegian violin. That one belonged to my great-grandfather."

"Do you know how to play it?"

"No," Greg replied. "Why are you here, Nick?"

Nick took a deep breath, nervously rubbing the nape of his neck. What was he doing here? Something about football and underwear models and beer and wine coolers. Something about pissing standing up and now Greg was rolling his eyes and heading back to the front door.

"Wait," Nick said, catching Greg by the wrist, pulling him hard – too hard, and then Greg's chest was pressed right against his. He leaned forward, ready to capture that mouth in another kiss when there was a sudden sting against his cheek and Greg was pushing himself out of Nick's arms. Nick pressed his hand to his face, touching his hot skin, looking at Greg with shock etched on his face. "Did you just slap me?"

Greg crossed his arms. "What? You think you can just come over here and shove your tongue down my throat again and everything's going to be okay? What kind of guy do you take me for?"

"You slapped me," Nick said, incredulous. He hadn't been slapped since he was in college, by a girlfriend named Betty Beasley after she'd walked in on him screwing her roommate. And he'd certainly never been slapped by another man. It was emasculating. It was infuriating. Nick had never been so angry and so aroused in his entire life.

He took a step closer to Greg, who was suddenly appearing as if that may not have been the best idea he'd ever had. Strode three more swift steps towards the young man, closing the space between them, reached out with both hands and grabbed Greg's biceps, pushing him up against the wall, shaking the picture frames hanging there. Pressed his lips against Greg's mouth and he did shove his tongue down that hot, velvety throat. Felt a thrill shoot through him as Greg responded to him, grabbing Nick's jacket and pulling him closer, moaning into Nick's mouth.

"You don't think I'm a man?" Nick tore his mouth away from Greg to ask as he pressed his erection into Greg's hips. A whimper escaped the other man's lips so, so softly, and Nick was sure he'd never heard anything sexier. "Does this feel like a man to you?"

Greg lunged forward, capturing Nick's mouth in another rough kiss. Turned them until Nick's back was against the wall, shoving him into it with a dull thud. Pushed Nick's jacket off, tugged at the hem of Nick's shirt, warm fingers finding their way onto Nick's skin, touching, clutching, scratching, searing. Nick could feel Greg's own hardness against his thigh through his jeans, could see a dampening tent in the young man's thin boxers.

Desperately, Nick pulled Greg's undershirt up, pausing as he caught sight of a fading bruise right beneath Greg's collarbone. He didn't allow Greg to remove his shirt completely, only pulling it off of his head and leaving his arms in the sleeves. He pulled it behind the other man's back and down his arms, twisting it, forcing Greg's elbows together behind his back, trapping him. He gripped at the bunched fabric with one hand, the other indicating the bruise. The love bite.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice even.

Greg smirked with kiss-swollen lips. "What does it look like?"

"Did _he_ put it there?"

Greg shrugged, then gasped as Nick scraped his teeth over the offending bruise. Worked the delicate skin until a new bruise formed, masking any indication of any prior indiscretions. He looked up to see Greg's amused expression and scowled.

"Are there any more?" Nick asked. Greg shook his head. "Good."

Nick pulled Greg away from the wall, turning them towards the back of the couch. Pushed Greg forward, bent him over it, the shirt still bundled tightly in Nick's grip. Scrambled to unbuckle his belt and open his pants with his free hand, pulling his dick out before pushing down Greg's boxers just enough to expose that perfect ass. He shoved his erection against warm, smooth skin as he grabbed Greg's hard, leaking cock in his fist.

"Fuck!" Greg exclaimed, pushing into Nick's hand. "Oh, fuck, Nick. Fuck."

Nick leaned forward, draping his chest over Greg's back, pressing his lips to Greg's ear. Nibbled at his earlobe briefly before sticking his tongue into Greg's ear. Delighted in the breathy whine that followed.

"Where are your condoms?" Nick asked.

"Bedroom."

"We're going to go into the bedroom," Nick drawled hoarsely, thrusting his dick against the cleft of Greg's ass, "and I'm going to show you how much of a man I am. Is that what you want? To get fucked by a real man?"

"Yes," Greg responded breathlessly, nodding. "Oh, fuck, yes. Anything you want. Anything."

Nick smiled at Greg's rambling enthusiasm, reluctantly taking a step back and releasing his hold on the fabric clutched in his hand, allowing the winkled shirt to fall to the floor between them. Greg turned, snaking his arms around Nick, grabbing his ass to pull him forward into another heated kiss, rubbing their cocks together, the heat of Greg's erection and the delicious friction of skin on skin nearly causing Nick to blow a load right there.

"Stop!" Nick gasped, pushing Greg away. "Bedroom. Now."

Greg grinned cheekily, stepping out of his boxers and tossing them playfully at Nick's chest. Nick watched the now naked young man walk away from him, watched that lithe body move fluidly, almost gracefully down the hallway. Watched him turn back to regard Nick with such an expression of hunger and lust that Nick's heart skipped a beat.

"Are you coming, or am I going to have to take care of myself?"

"No. No, no," Nick responded hastily, leaving a trail of shoes and socks and jeans behind him as he eagerly followed. He entered the bedroom to find Greg lying on the bed propped up on one elbow, legs spread, one hand lazily stroking his hard cock. A choked sound escaped Nick's lips as he stood in the doorway and considered just how gorgeous Greg looked right now.

He watched Greg's eyes travel up and down the length of Nick's body, his gaze lingering on Nick's erection, his tongue slowly skimming over his lips before he bit his bottom lip and made a small noise of appreciation. And if Nick's skin hadn't already been flushed from arousal, he would've certainly blushed then.

"Come here." Low and throaty, as Greg patted the bed. Lubricant and a condom right there beside him, no mistaking what was about to happen. Nick obliged willingly, climbing on top of Greg, capturing that mouth beneath his once more. He grasped Greg's erection, pumping the impressive length, twisting, flicking his thumb over the head. Watched Greg's head drop back and was rewarded with a low moan.

"This is mine," Nick breathed into Greg's neck, gripping his cock harder.

"Yes," Greg agreed, nodding. "Yours. It's yours."

Moved his other hand down the back of Greg's thigh, cupping his ass, squeezing firmly. "This is mine."

"Yes. Always. Always."

It was exciting, this power he had over Greg. The ability to reduce the usually eloquent and chatty lab rat to simple words and broken phrases. The ability to elicit desperate, breathy sounds simply by touching him_ just so_. He wanted to unlock every secret, learn every button to push. Wanted to push him right to the edge, wanted to figure out how to hold him there until Greg begged for release, wanted more, more, more until Greg was only a writhing, pliable mass beneath Nick's hands.

"On your knees," Nick commanded quietly, because this was what he'd imagined for so long, this was what it was like in his fantasy, what it was like when he'd fucked all those nameless, faceless men at the bars. But this wasn't a fantasy, this was real, and as Greg began to reposition himself, Nick reconsidered. Because he didn't have to pretend anymore. "Wait. I want to see you."

Something flashed across those expressive brown eyes, but Nick couldn't – wouldn't – read it. The young man laid back against the mattress, spreading his legs on either side of Nick's body, reaching for the lubricant and handing it to him.

"I want to watch you do it," Nick said, pushing the bottle back into Greg's hands as he leaned back on his haunches. Watched with dark eyes as Greg squeezed lubricant onto those long, dexterous fingers and slipped one inside that waiting hole, gripping his erection with his other hand. Nick grabbed his own hard cock, squeezing firmly at the base to stop himself from coming right there at the debauched sight. "Jesus, Greg. You are so hot."

"Nick..." Greg gasped, slipping another finger inside, twisting, scissoring, pressing. "Nick, I want you. Please. Give it to me, please."

Nick tore the foil packet with his teeth, rolled the condom onto his hard member and slicked himself up with lube. Leaned forward to lick a bead of sweat forming on Greg's upper lip, tasted salt, and gently pulled Greg's hand away. Threw Greg's knees over his shoulders, lined himself up and pushed forward, breached that tight ring of muscle and_ Jesus Christ _Greg was so fucking tight and warm and –

"_Fuck_,"Nick groaned, carefully watching Greg's face to make sure he wasn't hurting him but the young man's eyes were rolling in the back of his head, a good indication to continue. Nick leaned forward once more, brushing his lips over the warm, smooth expanse of Greg's shoulder, murmuring into his skin as he entered him in one long stroke. "Greg, you are so...you're so..."

"Nicky," Greg breathed, clutching at Nick's back with blunt nails, pulling him closer, and the older man felt a thrill rush through him at the endearment uttered so softly. "Oh, Nicky, please, fuck me, please."

Nick wanted to take his time, wanted this to last, but Greg was whispering dirty sweet nothings into his ear, urging him on, and he couldn't help himself. Bent the young man practically in half, knees to his chest, braced his hands against the mattress on either side of Greg's head and pulled nearly all the way out before ramming hard back inside that tight, velvety channel.

"That's it," Greg encouraged. "Show me how much of a man you are. Fuck me like a man, Nicky. Fuck me!"

Harder, Nick pounded into the body beneath his, grunting through gritted teeth as his hips connected roughly with Greg's ass. Greg cried out with each impact, bracing his hands against the headboard above him, the bed shaking on its frame, wood knocking against the wall with a methodical _thud-thud-thud. _And then tight muscles began spasming around Nick's dick as Greg screamed, his back arching off of the mattress as he came hard between their two slick-sweat bodies, hot come shooting across Greg's stomach, his chest, and Nick had never seen anything more stunning in his life.

Faster, more erratically, Nick began pumping his hard cock into Greg until he felt the heat building up in his gut, spreading to his balls, and he was so close, so close. Greg snaked long fingers around the back of Nick's neck, pulling him closer, pulling him into a deep and feverish kiss.

"Come for me," he purred into Nick's mouth, and that was all it took for Nick to topple right over the edge and into sweet release. With one more thrust he slammed into Greg hard, groaning into Greg's mouth as he shot his load deep inside and God it was so much more than anything he'd ever fantasized about.

Numbly, he felt Greg remove his legs from Nick's shoulders and drop them to either side of Nick's body. He collapsed, boneless, onto the young man beneath him, his cheek pressed against Greg's shoulder, his breath ghosting across feverish skin. Felt fingertips tracing light patterns across his back, sending a shiver down his spine.

"You better not run," Greg warned playfully, but Nick could hear the edge of insecurity in his voice.

"I don't think I'll be able to," Nick retorted lightly, indicating the stickiness between them. "We're going to be stuck together pretty soon."

"I meant what I said. All or nothing."

Nick raised his head to look into warm brown eyes. Watched the intensity of emotions dancing across them: fear, doubt, fire, hope. Watched them search his own eyes for answers Nick wasn't sure he had.

All or nothing. Greg was giving him the option. Now that Nick had gotten this out of his system, he could go back to his old life. Go back to watching one hundred and fifty channels on his satellite television, drinking beer, alone. Go back to finding himself on the occasional date with some blond bimbo or random police officer hoping to make a connection. Continue to climb the ladder at CSI, from Level 1 to 2 to 3 to that new leadership position opening up next year. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. That was his life. It was uncomplicated. It was predictable. It was comforting. He was happy with his life. Right?

Why would Greg even want to be with someone like that? Uncomplicated, predicable, comfortable. Greg was everything Nick wasn't. Greg was wild and courageous and impulsive and fun. Greg could have anyone he wanted, someone gorgeous and young and fun like Ian Reed who wasn't afraid to be bold or spontaneous.

"Why me?" Nick asked suddenly, because he had to know.

And Greg answered, without even hesitating. "Nick, it was always you."

Nick felt his chest tighten. He remembered the words the young man had said in the crime lab's garage earlier. _I've tried to be patient, because it's you, and I've wanted this for so long. _How long? Months? Years? What did Greg see in him that he couldn't see in himself? Or is that what Greg wanted, predictability, stability? Comfort? Was Nick capable of giving it to him?

It was a long fall from the top of a pedestal. Perhaps he should just walk away. He knew Greg would let him. But he knew if he did, he'd never be able to look back. Knew this was his only chance at whatever it was Greg was offering.

_Because it's you._

"Nick?" A quiet pleading, as tentative fingers touched the side of his face.

_It was always you._

Nick pressed his lips against Greg's, his tongue urging those soft lips apart, gently searching, encouraging, imploring. Hands clutched desperately at his shoulders, as if Greg was afraid if he were let go, Nick would disappear. Nick deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing further, and he hoped that Greg could feel everything Nick didn't think he could say.

He pulled away, dark eyes meeting his, still searching, still questioning.

"Do you want to grab some dinner after we wake up?" Nick asked softly, his thumb brushing over Greg's bottom lip, and Greg smiled, blushed, and Nick had been wrong before. _That _was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen.

* * *

To be continued. Please review! They are my candy.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick felt like he'd only just closed his eyes before an alarm was shrilling in his ear. The room was dark now, indicating nightfall, and he was acutely aware of a warm body flush to his. A long arm reached across him to hit the clock on the nightstand, the display reading eight in the evening. Three hours until the night shift started; enough time to grab a quick shower and some dinner and perhaps some other things, if the naked body beside him was any indication. The arm rested on his chest, fingertips idly tracing up and down his ribs. Skimming lower, over his hip bone, until they gently twirled the dark hairs on his thigh. Lower still, to the soft skin of his inner thigh, brushing against his balls so lightly Nick wasn't sure he'd imagined it. He had already had morning wood, could feel those fingers dancing across the soft skin of his erection as his eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

The body beside him shifted. Nick caught sight of bright brown eyes full of mischief and an endearing sleepy smile in the moonlight creeping in between the blinds, right before they disappeared beneath the down comforter. Sweet kisses made their way down his chest, his stomach, his hip. Soft skin nuzzling against his thigh, warm breath ghosting over his dick.

Nick screwed his eyes closed and hissed through clenched teeth as a warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock, fingers circling the base in a firm grip. Tight lips sucked up and down his shaft, the firm grip moving in tune with Greg's mouth. The young man was moaning as if sucking Nick's dick was truly a pleasure, his audible enthusiasm only serving to heighten Nick's arousal. He tried to restrain himself from thrusting into Greg's throat but it was so good and he wanted nothing more than to fuck that pretty mouth.

"Fuck, Greg, take it, take it all," Nick gasped. He carded his fingers through Greg's hair, gently urging, and Greg happily obliged, taking Nick all the way down his throat until Nick could feel Greg's nose pressed against his groin. Greg remained for just a moment longer before gagging and backing off, the obscene noise almost throwing Nick right over the edge.

Faster, Greg's hand moved up and down Nick's shaft, his tongue swirling around ridge of the sensitive head of Nick's cock. He could hear Greg's voice from beneath the covers, loud and clear as if he were right in his ear. "I wanna taste you, Nicky. I bet you taste _so good._" And then a spit-slick finger was sliding into his asshole, searching, finding Nick's prostate, pressing against the sensitive gland and Nick was sure he was going to lose his mind right here in Greg's bed.

"Greg," he breathed, gripping Greg's hair in his fist, pushing that face back onto his cock, pushing into that hot wet mouth, down that warm, velvety throat. "Oh, fuck. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna – "

He groaned as his orgasm overtook him, fire spreading from his belly to his balls and straight out of his dick and into Greg's waiting mouth. The young man eagerly sucked Nick dry, until he gently pushed Greg away, his over-stimulated member too sensitive to handle any more attention. Greg crawled up his body, straddling Nick's hips and placing his hands against Nick's chest.

"Do you..." Nick began, pausing to catch his breath, to regain cognitive thinking, form coherent sentences. "Do you want me to...?"

"I took care of myself," Greg responded, appearing sheepish. "You're so hot I couldn't help it."

"You're incredible," he said softly, and was rewarded with an adorably bashful smile. He placed his hands on Greg's hips, his thumbs brushing over the angles of Greg's pelvis. "What are you in the mood for? To eat, I mean."

"There's a Chinese food place nearby that's pretty good."

"I don't like to eat anything too heavy before work," Nick stated. "What else?"

"Umm...there's an Italian place across the street."

"Too many carbs."

"Mexican?"

"Heartburn."

Greg laughed. "How about you pick, then?"

"What about that vegan place over on Belmont?" Nick suggested.

"Eww." Greg grimaced. "You've been hanging out with Sara too much."

"Wait until you're my age," Nick warned, running his hands over the taught muscles of Greg's abdomen. Delighted at the way Greg's stomach tensed, he tickled the younger man gently until he was rewarded with delicious squeals. "When you have to actually work hard to stay in shape."

"Life is entirely too short to worry about that now," Greg said, pushing Nick's hands away. "Live dangerously, Nick. Let's go eat some pasta and garlic knots and meatballs and – "

"Okay, you win," Nick conceded, as Greg climbed off of him. "You had me at garlic knots."

* * *

Dinner was filled with interesting and enthusiastic conversation dotted with laughter and banter and entirely too many carbs. Nick still found it hard to believe that two people who couldn't seem more opposite had yet to run out of things to say. In a stark contrast to most of his dates – if he dared to call this a date, which he did not – he found himself actually interested in what Greg had to say. He may have been a bit of an embellisher, but it was amazing how much experience with so many different places and things he had. And here all Nick had to talk about was growing up in Texas, which, surprisingly, enthralled Greg to no end, and Nick couldn't help but feel flattered.

"Need anything else, boys?" the waitress Mary, asked, touching Greg on the shoulder much too casually for Nick's liking. Greg must've come here often for her to know him by name, and she must've really liked him, because she flirted with him relentlessly.

"No, we're fine," Greg replied. "Thanks."

"If that girl threw herself at you any harder, she'd knock you over," Nick said, after she had left the table.

"Dude, she's sixteen," Greg whispered. "She's the owner's daughter. Be nice to her, she comps my desserts."

"I don't like it, that's all I'm saying," Nick huffed.

"She's not saving herself for me or anything, jeeze," Greg stated. "Just relax, there's free cannolis in it for you."

Nick _was_ rewarded with a cannoli to go, so he supposed he could live with the Virgin Mary's come-ons if it meant free desserts. Greg insisted on paying for dinner, since he had forced Nick to eat carbs against his will, promising to let Nick get the check next time. Nick had a slight heart attack at the mention of a next time, knowing his track record when it came to calling someone after a date (which this certainly was not), but he forced himself to swallow down his growing panic.

They had driven separately to the restaurant so Nick could stop home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, but he found himself reluctant to leave Greg behind as they stood in the parking lot.

"Thanks for dinner," Nick said, nodding as he clutched the small Styrofoam box in his hands. He made a small sound of surprise as Greg slipped his hands on either side of Nick's face and pulled him into a sweet, slow kiss. A strong, lithe body pressed against his, and he wrapped his free arm around Greg's slender waist, pulling him closer. Tongues dancing against one another, fighting for dominance, and if Nick was hesitant to leave before, he sure as hell didn't want to go now.

"Mmm," Greg murmured, breaking away and leaning his forehead against Nick's, strong hands on his shoulders. "Can we go back to bed?"

Nick sighed. "I wish. I'll see you at work, okay?"

"See you."

Nick's house was empty and cold. The shower was uneventful. The ride into the crime lab was quiet. Everything his time spent with Greg was not. Slightly disconcerted, he shook off the absurd feeling of loneliness, chalking it up to the recent dry spell in his love life.

He arrived into work ten minutes early, enough time to grab some coffee before heading into Grissom's office for assignments. Crossed the threshold into reception and realized that work would never be the same. Not after what he and Greg had done this morning. There would be no more platonic touches or innocent banter. No more casual glances. Everything would mean something. How was he supposed to handle this? How would Greg handle this? They hadn't talked about it. They should've talked about it, how could Nick have made such a stupid oversight? Oh, God. Was Greg going to blab everything to all of his closely-knit tech friends? Would he tell just one person he trusted, like Archie or Jacqui, just one person that would tell someone else, who would tell someone else, and then before he knew it the entire night shift would know that good old southern boy Nick Stokes was fucking Greg Sanders, irresistible DNA tech extraordinaire.

His heart was hammering in his chest as he traveled down the hallway and focused on the floor, unwilling to meet the eyes of anyone who passed in fear of what he'd see in them. Coffee forgotten, he felt the heat in his face, in his ears, blushing like a chaste school girl as he avoided greeting anyone on his way to his boss' office. Heard the unmistakable laughter of his maybe/maybe-not-so secret lover, dared to look up to see him chattering away with Sara, enthusiastically telling her some well-spun tale. Probably about how Nick kissed or fucked or what he looked like when he came.

Sara's eyes met his, and he braced for impact. She smiled at him, silently nodding her hello, continued past him in the hall. Nothing. She knew nothing. Greg hadn't said anything to her, and if there was one person in this lab he would've told, it certainly would have been his closest friend Sara. Finally, Nick allowed himself to look at Greg, whose expression remained unchanged. The young man only smiled and nodded as well, so captivated by his conversation with Sara he hardly had any time to acknowledge his coworker Nick.

Nick paused in the hallway, hardly able to believe what he'd just witnessed. And he should've been relieved that Greg had practiced discretion. He should've been glad that the young man had said nothing to no one about what they'd done this morning. Glad that nerdy Greg Sanders hadn't gushed to anyone about how he'd managed to nab somebody like Nick Stokes. He was glad. He was _so glad_. It wasn't like Nick was anything special, after all. It wasn't like he was any kind of Adonis. He wasn't out of anybody's league or anything like that, certainly not Greg's.

He didn't realize he was clenching his jaw until he heard the grinding of his teeth in his ears. Wondered how it was that Greg could remain so calm, so cool, after Nick had utterly and completely fucked his brains out just hours earlier. At least Nick had thought his efforts had been somewhat impressive. Did Greg not think so? Was Nick so uninspiring that Greg could just walk around this place like nothing had happened?

Nick turned on his heel, heading in the direction Greg had been going in. Found him alone in the break room brewing coffee, reading the back of the package of his coveted Blue Hawaiian. Stood in the doorway until Greg stiffened, sensing his presence. Waited until Greg slowly turned to look at him.

"Nick," he said, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. So cocky. So self-assured.

"Greg."

The young man turned back to the bag of coffee that was so intently holding his interest. One second, two, and then he looked up, compressing a smile before considering Nick once more from beneath dark eyelashes.

"Something you need?" Greg asked.

"No." Nick crossed the room to stand close to the younger man. Too close for comfort, and Greg shifted nervously from the proximity.

"Something you want?" Greg asked, making an attempt at coy but his voice wavered as he struggled to maintain his composure beneath Nick's intense gaze.

"Maybe," Nick replied. "Are you busy after work?"

"No."

"You will be," Nick stated, leaning close so his warm breath could ghost over Greg's ear, and there it was, the reaction he'd been looking for. Unnerved, a blush crept up into Greg's cheeks, a sharp intake of air as Nick brushed his fingers against Greg's as he slid past him and headed towards the opposite doorway. Made sure he was in the hallway and out of sight of the young man before allowing himself to smile.

* * *

"The oily substance found on Michael Webster's skin is olibanum," the Trace Lab technician stated, and offered nothing more except an expression of complete indifference, as if Nick or his results weren't worth his time. "It was found on another victim, deceased: Gordon Crudo."

"What the heck is olibanum?" Nick asked, trying to remember if he'd ever seen this guy before. He must've been new.

The man sighed, as if everyone should already know. "It's an aromatic resin obtained from trees of the genus _Boswellia_. It's used in incense and perfume. And here's the results to your other sample."

"A snake scale?" Nick regarded the technician dubiously from over the printout that had just been handed to him. "What is a snake scale doing on my victim?"

"I don't know," he replied dismissively. "Conjecture is not part of my job description. My name tag says Trace, not Crime Scene Investigator. See?"

Nick flicked his eyes over the tech's ID badge, not to verify his admission but to catch his name: David Hodges. Nick smiled tightly, wondering where they'd found this one and why he was on the night shift, because everybody had a reason to work nights. Whether it was the timing of college classes, to spend time with children during the daytime, sometimes it was simply due to the desperation of needing a job regardless of the hours. Or maybe it was because no one on the day shift – especially upper management – could stand to be within three feet of you. Somehow, Nick guessed Hodges' particular issue was the latter.

"Something you want to get off your chest there, Hodges?" Nick muttered, focused once again on his printout, but he could see the other man perk up out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, since you asked..." the tech began, and Nick immediately realized his mistake. Never ask a pretentious attention-whore how they were doing, not if you had anything to do for the next few hours.

"You know what, I'm so sorry," Nick drawled, offering his sweetest smile. "I am so busy right now with these cases, but we'll finish this conversation later, okay? I'll bring you some coffee, how about that?"

"Sure," Hodges agreed, leaning over his workstation as Nick quickly retreated. "I take it with cream, no sugar!"

"Bringing coffee to the new Trace tech?" Nick heard, as Greg joined him in his walk down the hall. "Something I should be concerned about?"

Nick offered his companion an incredulous look. "Have you met Hodges yet? Because if you did you would know that no, there is absolutely, positively no reason to worry – ever."

Greg laughed as he followed Nick into the break room. He leaned against the counter as the CSI pulled an apple out of the refrigerator.

"He kind of grows on you though. Like a fungus," Greg added almost thoughtfully, and then yawned deeply.

"Tired, G?" Nick asked, gently touching Greg's elbow. "It's only two."

Greg waved away his concern. "I'm fine. Just working all these extra hours while we're shorthanded. Besides, somebody _did_ kept me up all morning."

"Oh, yeah? Who?" Sara asked, smirking as she strode into the room. She sat down at the table with a brown bagged lunch.

"No one," Greg blurted out with more force than he intended, and she frowned slightly. He continued to clumsily trip over his words as he attempted to recover. "That you know. You don't know her. She doesn't work here. She's hot though. A real tiger in bed. Rawr." Greg pantomimed tiger claws as Nick struggled to bite back laughter. Flustered was a very cute look for Greg. "Jealous, Sara? Because you know, if you're going to make me choose, there's really no competition."

"No," she responded, but she was smiling, flattered.

"Just say the word," Greg assured, before quickly exiting. Nick rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefingers, shaking his head in amusement.

"Do you think there's truth to anything that he says?" Sara wondered aloud, around a mouthful of a tuna salad sandwich.

"You know what they say," Nick offered, shrugging. "There's a grain of truth in every lie."

* * *

Greg frowned as he sat on the stool in his lab, arms crossed over his chest. Stared at the small blond girl sitting in the stool across from him as if she were some sort of foreign specimen beneath his microscope that he couldn't quite identify.

"What's your name?" the little girl finally asked, the first to break the tense silence.

"Greg."

"I'm Lindsey," she stated.

"I know who you are."

"Do you know my mom?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to find her?"

"No," Greg replied, and immediately backpedaled at her horror. "I mean, not me specifically. I just stay here in the lab."

"What do you do?"

"Lab stuff."

Lindsey scrunched her nose at him in distaste as Greg narrowed his eyes.

"Nick," Warrick said quietly, as they watched the standoff with bated breath from the other side of the room. "I know Greg is three times Lindsey's age in years, but he's gotta be twice her age in maturity – tops. Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Do you want to babysit her?" Nick asked out of the corner of his mouth. "Or would you rather find Catherine?"

Warrick sighed. Catherine had been gone for hours, seemingly involved in some kind of kidnapping scheme against her will. She had been leaving them clues all over the desert, but they had yet to piece them together. It was an especially difficult task when they were distracted by watching her eight-year-old daughter, until Nick had suggested leaving her with Greg.

"Are you as old as Uncle Nicky?" Lindsey asked.

"No," Greg said, as if the notion was unfathomable. "And I'm _definitely_ not as old as Uncle Warrick."

"Easy," Warrick warned.

"Are you cooler than them?" she asked.

Greg snorted with laughter. "Please. I'm cooler than both of them combined."

"Picture that!" Warrick exclaimed, as Nick said, "You wish."

"Hey, Lindsey," Greg said in a stage whisper, as he leaned forward. He gave a cursory glance at the two men watching before turning back to her. "I'll let you read all my teenage magazines that you're too young for on two conditions."

She regarded him suspiciously. "I'm listening."

"One: don't tell these two nerds where I hide my stash. Two: promise me when your mom gets back you'll tell her how much cooler I am than them _and_ you think she should let me take her to the movies."

"That's three things."

"Do we have a deal or not?" Greg leaned back on his stool and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "If you want, I can just give you some crayons. But crayons are for babies, aren't they? Wouldn't you rather read about trashy L.A. socialite Paris Hilton?"

Lindsey didn't even hesitate. "I'll take the magazines."

* * *

Nick and Warrick were changing into their street clothes in the locker room when Catherine entered, carrying a sleeping Lindsey in her arms. The little girl was clinging to her mother's chest like a reverse backpack, her tiny feet dangling in the air.

"Thanks again for everything, guys," she said over her daughter's shoulder, and then cocked an eyebrow. "But really? Greg Sanders? Are you _trying_ to corrupt her early?"

"Hey, give the kid a break," Nick said, grinning. "Rather him than David Hodges, right?"

Catherine seemed only mildly comforted by that fact. "I've had to explain at least three times why I won't go on a date with Greg. I even found a note on my desk addressed to Mrs. Robinson asking for a date and time and 'my place or yours?'"

"Maybe Hodges would've been a better idea," Warrick reconsidered, closing his locker door. "You want a ride home, Catherine? I'm sure you're pretty beat after the night you've had."

"Thanks, but I'll be all right," she responded. "See you, boys."

"Man, I'm going straight to bed," Warrick said, stretching his arms over his head. "How about you?"

"Nah, I've got plans," Nick stated, hardly able to wait to meet Greg after work and make due on his earlier promise. It hadn't been easy seeing the young man all night and having to keep his hands to himself; he felt like he'd been holding his breath all shift, and now that it was finally over he could breathe again. He still had so much to learn about Greg, so much to discover, mind and body and everything in between. It was like the young man was an addiction, all chatter and energy and warm skin, and Nick couldn't get enough. Briefly, he wondered how healthy it was to so quickly need someone.

"Hello? Earth to Nick?"

"Hmm?" Nick blinked, turned to face Warrick, who had obviously said something to Nick while he had been lost in messy bed sheets and exploring fingertips and tangled limbs.

"I asked what kind of plans you had, but it's pretty obvious now," his friend said, grinning knowingly. He clapped Nick on the shoulder roughly. "Be safe, killer. I'll catch you later."

After bidding Warrick farewell, he found Greg nearly sleeping on his feet inside of the DNA lab, bent forward with his elbows on the counter, the GCMS softly whirring beside him. His face was leaning against one of his fists, pen loosely held in the other hand but he didn't appear to be writing anything. Upon closer inspection, Nick noticed there wasn't even any paper in front of him.

"Uh, Greg?" he asked tentatively from across the table. _"Greg."_

The young man's eyes shot open and he stood up, one hand pressed against his heart, the other still clutching his pen. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were sleeping," Nick said, eyebrows raised.

"I was not," Greg stated adamantly. "I was just resting my eyes while waiting for my results to print out."

Nick pulled a piece of paper that had been sitting in the printer. "You mean these results?"

Greg narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting from Nick to the paper and back to Nick before snatching it out of Nick's hands. "Yes. Thank you."

"Are you about done here?" Nick asked, as Greg began logging the results into the computer system.

"No," Greg said forlornly, and then yawned. "Watching a kid all night really eats up a lot of your time. Even when she fell asleep, I was afraid she was going to wake up and get into something. I mean, do you know how much glass is around this place? All this expensive equipment? What if she went into the refrigerator and accidentally ate one of Grissom's experiments?"

"I think the smell would've stopped her from ingesting anything Grissom puts in that refrigerator," Nick assured him. "Come home with me."

Greg pouted. "I hardly got any work done tonight, and I hate dumping all this stuff on the day shift."

"Why?" Nick shrugged. "They do it to you."

Greg seemed to consider this, and then shook his head. "I can't. I don't have it in me."

"Well, when you're done here, stop by my place," Nick said, and then examined his fingernails casually. "That is, if you aren't too busy dumping your hot new girlfriend for Sara and then leaving Sara for your movie date with Catherine."

Greg leaned forward over the counter with a shit-eating grin, gazing up at Nick from beneath sooty eyelashes. "Don't worry. I'd totally ditch Catherine in the middle of the movie for you."

"Before or after you pull the popcorn trick on her?"

"Guess."

Nick bit back a smile as he felt his cheeks grow warm, taking a step back from the table as his body responded to the heat between them. He was suddenly struck with the notion that, yes, he had in fact been flirting with Greg all these years, and wondered how he had never realized just how forward their easy banter could be before. The way they leaned into each other when they spoke, how they smiled and laughed and made eyes at each other. It was all so obvious now.

"Just come by when you're done here," Nick said, heading for the door. He turned back briefly, winked. "I'll try not to get started without you, but I can't make any promises."

He was satisfied at the small whimper he heard behind him as he left.

* * *

Nick startled awake at the sound of his front doorbell. He sat up on the couch, twisting his neck until he heard a satisfying crack of bones. He must've fallen asleep while watching the Texas A&amp;M University/Texas Christian University game that he'd recorded, which said a lot regarding his exhaustion, considering the game had been the final competition of the 2001 college football season and the teams had been rivals in the Southwest Conference for many years.

He looked at the clock as he crossed the room to the front door, realizing it was nearly noon. When he opened the door to reveal an incredibly weary-looking Greg holding a messenger bag in one hand and a large green ceramic coffee mug in the other.

"Hey," Nick greeted, stepping aside so the young man could enter. "You were held up for a while, huh?"

Greg sighed, dropping his bag unceremoniously to the ground and placing his coffee mug on the kitchen divider. "Don't even get me started. When Ecklie saw me this morning, he practically creamed his pants and starting asking me to run all this stuff for one of his high profile cases."

Nick grimaced "I really didn't need the image of Ecklie coming in his pants over you. I got you a breakfast burrito like, three hours ago. I don't know how good it is anymore. Is that okay?"

Nick could hear the insecurity laced in his own voice, wondering where the question had come from and why he was unsure whether buying someone breakfast was okay. Maybe because the considerate gesture was too close to something someone would do for a boyfriend, or maybe he was afraid Greg would think Nick was too doting._ Jesus, Nick, doting?_ He thought to himself. _What the hell about a breakfast burrito is doting? Since when do you even use words like doting? _Immediately, he remembered why he didn't do relationships. He was an idiot, and didn't have the energy to wrap his mind around all the nuances of dating.

Nick was thankful Greg was too tired to notice his slight panic attack.

"I don't care, I'd eat..." Greg floundered for the words, before waving away the thought. "My brain is too fried to think of anything witty. Just give me the burrito. I'm starving."

Nick popped it into the microwave before handing it to Greg, who was sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, which Nick didn't usually condone. He rewound the tape in his VCR and settled down next to Greg, continuing to watch the game while his companion happily ate his breakfast burrito like it was the best meal he'd ever had. He crumpled the wrapper into a ball and tossed it on the table before leaning back and sighing heavily.

"You saved my life, Nick," Greg gushed dramatically.

Nick leaned closer to Greg on the couch, brushing the young man's hair behind his ear. The spiky hair was surprisingly pliant beneath his fingertips, and he briefly wondered what kind of product Greg used as pressed his nose into Greg's neck and inhaled lemon and coffee and chemicals. He was rewarded with a contented sigh as his lips found warm skin.

He murmured, "How will you ever repay me?"

"I'm sure I can think of something," Greg responded breathlessly, before abruptly pulling away. "Wait. I stink like work. Can I shower before we get into anything?"

Nick grinned. "Only if I can join you."

Wet Greg was Nick's favorite Greg, Nick decided, as the hot water cascaded over their naked bodies in the shower. They were pressed chest to chest, Greg's hands traveling up Nick's back, gripping his shoulders as he pulled the older man closer. Nick's hands cupped Greg's ass, their dicks easily sliding against each other, slick with soapy water. He pushed Greg back against the shower wall, moving one hand to brace the wall, the other sliding under Greg's thigh, pulling his leg up. Felt that leg wrap around his waist as his teeth scraped against the soft skin where Greg's neck met his shoulder.

His mind briefly imagined the blue waters of Costa Rica, where he'd traveled with some of his fraternity brothers during a break between semesters his second year of college. He imagined draping his body over Greg's on the sand, warm water swirling around them as the waves crashed on the beach. Sighing softly into Greg's open mouth as their tongues danced together.

"You seem distracted," Greg said, offering Nick a curious glance. "Where are you?"

"Costa Rica."

Greg pulled a face. "What's in Costa Rica?"

"Warm water. Sandy beaches. Me. You."

Greg bit his bottom lip and smiled, and Nick couldn't tell if he was blushing or if the steamy shower had caused his skin to flush. Kissing again, enthusiastic tongues warring for dominance, and Nick felt a thrill run through him, straight down his spine and right to his dick. Thrust his hips into Greg's harder, faster, felt Greg moaning into his mouth – or was that Nick? Hands roaming, fingers clutching, wonderful hardness between their bodies, fire burning within Nick's belly and he arched his body into Greg, biting into his shoulder as he came hard, spilling his hot seed between them. Greg was not far behind, gripping Nick's biceps as he threw his head back, his body shuddering as he groaned into the sky.

They stood there under the water for a few moments, leaning against one another. Greg's head rested on Nick's shoulder, his arms limp at his sides, and Nick actually wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

"Hey, G?" he asked softly, nudging the younger man. "You awake there?"

"Mmm," was the response he received, and then Greg perked up, albeit infinitesimally. "Yes."

"Let's get to bed," Nick stated, rinsing off the stickiness between them before shutting off the tap. He stepped out and grabbed a towel from the bathroom closet, turning to face a very sleepy Greg. The young man closed his eyes and smiled as Nick rubbed a towel over his hair, down his back and legs, before draping it across Greg's shoulders.

"Thanks," Greg murmured, stepping past Nick and into the bedroom. Nick only realized what a ridiculous smile he was wearing when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He cleared his throat, remembering that he was not a love struck teenager but a thirty-year-old man.

When he finished drying off, Greg was already under the covers, lying on his back with his eyes closed, and Nick liked the look of him in his bed. It was dark in the room with the curtains drawn, save the light spilling in from the bathroom. Nick turned off the light, climbed into bed, and laid down beside Greg, bizarrely tense as he wondered if he could touch the young man. He didn't know why he shouldn't be able to, considering what they had just done in the shower had been nothing but delicious, fantastic, intense touching, but he still wasn't yet entirely sure of the rules of the game they were playing. Wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with the amount of self-restraint it took not to reach out to the other man in his bed, as if he needed to.

There was movement beside him, and then Greg was turning to face him. Skimmed a hand up his belly and rested it over his heart. Pressed his body close to Nick's and nuzzled his face into Nick's shoulder. Almost hesitantly, Nick draped an arm around Greg's shoulders, pulling him closer, heard a contented sigh escape Greg's lips. And finally, finally, Nick was able to relax, and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

To be continued. Don't forget to leave me some reviews! I didn't get any last chapter and it made me sad! I had to drown my sorrows in smut. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry this chapter is short. It didn't really fit anywhere else. But there's smut, so.

* * *

There was a green coffee mug on his coffee table. Half-filled with day old coffee. It was Greg's coffee mug that he'd brought over one day and never taken home. It had been there on the table yesterday, and it was still there today. Nick had asked Greg, on more than one occasion, to deposit it in the sink when he was finished drinking out of it. He didn't even have to wash it, just put it in the sink. Greg always assured him he would, and then Nick would forget about it, and later, he'd find the damn thing right where Greg had last been while drinking out of it.

Sometimes Nick would find it on the dresser in the bedroom. Sometimes he'd find it on the counter in the bathroom. Once he even found it in the shower, on one of the shelves right next to the shampoo, and Nick was sure that had to have been a joke just to aggravate him, although he wouldn't put it past Greg to drink coffee in the shower. Worse was when Greg would leave it on the kitchen counter _right next to _the fucking sink. And he was positive _that_ was a joke, albeit an infuriating one.

Nick didn't like messes. He liked organization. He liked tidiness. He kept his field kit neat, he kept his car free of debris, and he kept his home clean. He didn't like messes. And he certainly didn't like coffee ring stains on his coffee table. Nick chewed on his lip as he scrubbed at the stain with a paper towel damp with glass cleanser. Turned to throw it into the trash and take the mug into the kitchen. Noticed sneakers haphazardly lying by the door, a messenger bag in the hall. Sighed at the sight of a damp towel hanging over the desk chair and remembered at that moment why he had never considered a roommate, even if it would help with the mortgage.

After washing the green coffee mug and placing it in the drying rack, he grabbed the damp towel off of the chair and tossed it over his shoulder, catching the scent of Greg's mint shower gel. Pressed the fabric to his nose and inhaled, conjuring images of tangled limbs and searching fingers and the sounds of heavy breathing and _oh, Nicky_ murmured so softly into his ear. He hung the towel in the bathroom, before turning and eyeing the toothbrush beside his. Right next to lemon scented hair product, some kind of moisturizer, and an exfoliating face wash.

The irony was not lost on Nick that his dry cleaner had lost several of his clothes, and yet here he was accumulating all of these new things that didn't belong to him. When had all of these things gotten here? He was sure it had only been a few weeks since he and Greg had started doing whatever it was they were doing. Dating, he supposed, although he wasn't sure if he would really call it that. They had sex. A lot of sex. A lot of hot, hot sex. There were times coming back to Greg's apartment or Nick's house after shift that they'd barely had the door closed behind them before they were all over each other, desperately pulling at clothes and kissing feverishly in the hall.

But not only that. They ate most of their meals together; even at work, he'd find himself on his break with Greg, sneaking away to the rooftop to share takeout. On their seldom days off together, they'd find something to do, whether it was fishing out at Lake Mead or hiking in the mountains. Sometimes, they would just lay around on the couch and watch television in their pajamas and not move all day, and sometimes, those were Nick's favorite times. To just lay there with Greg and listen to him breathe, feel his warm skin against his side, inhale the scent of his hair, and just _be_.

Okay. So he supposed he'd call it dating.

It was terrifying, the idea of having someone so intertwined in his everyday life. Nick was a private person. He liked the quiet and he liked his tidy home and he liked being able to watch what he wanted on television without having to argue for twenty minutes about why he should be able to watch a documentary about the migratory pattern of birds only to inevitably lose to _Dazed and Confused_ because Greg had an unhealthy obsession with Matthew McConaughey.

Tonight, the first night in nearly four weeks, he was alone in his home and not expecting Greg to come over. Was not going to Greg's apartment. Nick had worked the night before, Greg had had off. They hadn't made any plans or discussed any rendezvous, which they usually did in passing at work or when they bid their farewells at one of their homes. Somehow, it just hadn't been mentioned, and now Nick was alone. In his home. Not expecting Greg. Not going to Greg's apartment.

So he was alone. Finally. Thankfully. He laid in his bed, sighing heavily as he stretched his arms and legs wide, reveling in the expanse of his pillow top mattress and soft down comforter. Four pillows all to himself, instead of the just one he usually got when Greg was there. God only knew what Greg needed the third pillow for, why couldn't Nick have it? Didn't matter now, Nick had all four pillows. All four. All to himself.

Nick opened one eye and looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. Greg had gone out with his friends last night to some trendy new bar. He was probably sleeping after partying all night. Unlike Nick, who was instead lying here thinking about Greg sleeping instead of trying to do it himself. He just needed to relax, and not think about anything. Especially Greg.

He considered jerking off, just to take the edge off, but then it would lead him right back to where he started: thinking about Greg, which is what he was not supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be sleeping. Sleep. He could do this. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Waited. Waited.

Nothing. He groaned in frustration, about to give in, his hand snaking down between his legs when there was a knock on his door. Felt his heart race just a little bit, felt a heat rise into his cheeks and his breath coming a little bit faster. Swung his legs over the side of the bed and rushed to the front of the house without even grabbing his robe. Pulled open the door with a flourish before he realized what he must look like, some desperate love struck teenager.

"Hey," Nick said with a nod, leaning in the door frame casually, wearing just his boxer-briefs and trying not to appear flustered and out of breath.

Greg stood with a puzzled expression, tried not to smile. Failed. "Hey. You, uh...in the middle of something?"

"No, no, just...I was sleeping," Nick lied, stepping aside so Greg could enter.

"Oh, sorry," Greg apologized, as he shrugged out of his jacket. "I crashed at my friend's place last night. Had to stop by my place this morning and grab a shower and a change of clothes." He was poised to throw his jacket onto the couch but stood frozen, looking at Nick with uncertainty. "It's okay that I came by, right? I mean, I know we didn't make any plans, but I just – I thought – Should I have called first?"

Nick took the jacket out of Greg's hands and hung it up on the rack in the entryway, shrugging nonchalantly as he wondered if Greg's friend was a male or female. "It's fine. I thought you were coming over anyway."

"Cool," Greg breathed, smiling with relief. He sauntered over to Nick, running his hands up the muscles of Nick's abdomen, his chest, shoulders, down his arms and back again. He whistled appreciatively. "God, you're so hot. I don't know how I got so lucky."

Nick grinned sheepishly, flattered. "You're not so bad yourself. Still don't know why you hide it under all these button down shirts and baggy jeans." He indicated the top button of Greg's shirt before beginning to unbutton it. "You even button this one like some Catholic schoolgirl."

"I don't have the chest to leave seventy-five percent of my shirt open like Warrick does. I don't even know how he gets away with that. Sometimes I can see his nipples," Greg said, his teeth scraping against Nick's collarbone, eliciting a hiss from the older man. "I do have the legs for a Catholic schoolgirl's skirt, though."

And that shouldn't have been such an intriguing thought. Nick should've just laughed, because it was a joke. But the image of bending Greg over in a skirt, sliding his hands up and under the hem, hiking it up his thighs, revealing the creamy pale skin of his perfect ass, and shoving his cock hard into that tight, velvety heat until Greg _squealed_ like a school girl –

"You just thought about it, didn't you?" Greg asked, chuckling softly into Nick's neck.

"No," Nick lied, for the second or third time that morning, he was losing track. Greg clicked his tongue with distaste as Nick pushed the young man's shirt off his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. "Maybe."

"Look at you," Greg said, impressed as he hooked one finger in the waistband of Nick's underwear and tugged him toward the direction of the bedroom. "I knew the minute I heard all that dirty talk you couldn't be _that_ vanilla."

"I don't talk dirty," Nick said, catching Greg's wrist in his hand and pulling him back and into Nick's chest roughly. He growled low in his throat. "I just give you fair warning."

Greg smirked. "Oh, yeah? What am I in for?"

"I'm going to fuck you," Nick stated, slipping his hands on either side of Greg's face. Tipped the other man's head back and brushed his lips lightly against his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath them. Trailed the tip of his tongue across Greg's jaw. Nibbled on Greg's earlobe, stuck his tongue in his ear. Heard a sharp exhalation of air as Greg's hands curled around Nick's biceps tighter. "Nice and slow. Take my time. But you'll have to ask nicely first."

"You can't..." Greg began, but faltered as Nick palmed Greg's growing erection beneath his jeans. "You can't resist this body."

"I'll bet dinner you'll be begging me to give it to you by the time I'm done with you."

"You're on."

Nick smiled into Greg's shoulder, said nothing as he began to unbuckle Greg's belt and push his jeans down slim hips. Greg toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks as Nick mouthed his way down Greg's smooth chest. He dropped to his knees in front of Greg in the hallway, felt Greg's hands grip his shoulders, steadying himself as a shudder visibly coursed through his body.

Greg was still wearing his boxers. Nick pressed his hot mouth against Greg's firm hardness, dampening the fabric barrier separating his lips from skin. Ran his hands up the back of Greg's thighs, cupped Greg's ass and pressed his fingers into the crease, right against Greg's most secret entrance. Moved his mouth to Greg's balls, teeth scraping ever so gently over the fabric. Looked up into irises so dark with desire they were almost black. Greg was clenching his jaw hard, breathing raggedly as he fought to maintain his composure. Nick smirked. This was going to be way too easy.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Greg's boxers, pulling them down long legs that seemed to go on for miles. Greg's hard cock right in front of him, but Nick didn't touch it. Ran his hands back up Greg's legs, gripped the back of his thighs as he nuzzled his face into the smooth skin of Greg's hip. Ghosted hot breath across Greg's dick, his tongue tracing idle patterns on his waist, his thigh, so close but not close enough. He looked up again. Greg's eyes were closed, face flushed.

Abruptly, Nick stood. Greg's eyes flew open, a sharp gasp escaping his lips at the sudden lack of contact. Nick stepped around him, trailing his hand down Greg's chest, gripped his hard cock and tugged in the direction of the bedroom only once before letting go.

"Coming?" Nick asked, and Greg turned to follow but he must've forgotten his boxers were still around his ankles because Nick heard him stumble clumsily to his knees in the hallway behind him. He bit back a smile as Greg quickly recovered and sprang to his feet. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Greg said hastily, before clearing his throat. He indicated for Nick to continue with a wave of his hand. "After you."

Nick moved to the bed, stripping off his boxer-briefs before sitting down. He captured Greg's waist in his hands, pulling him on top; captured those lips in a heated kiss, gently urging Greg's mouth open with his tongue. Felt Greg's hips thrusting against his, Greg's hardness sliding against his own, gasped into Greg's mouth, and then he felt a smile against his own lips.

"Maybe you'll be the one begging for me," Greg murmured, his eyes alight with mischief.

"Not today," Nick promised, rolling their bodies so that Greg was pinned beneath him. Circled Greg's wrists with his hands and raised them above his head. Pushed Greg's legs apart with his own and angled his hips, the tip of his cockhead nudging teasingly at Greg's hole. The young man's head tipped back and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, evenly, his chest shuddering with the effort. "Something you want to say?"

Greg opened his eyes, staring at him defiantly. Shook his head tersely.

"We'll see about that."

He released Greg's wrists and stood from the bed, opening his closet door and retrieving a necktie. Turned back to the bed and heard Greg's breath catch. The young man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and Nick smiled at the sight of such a nervous Greg lying in his bed. Wordlessly, he climbed back on top of Greg, catching his wrists and encircling them with the fabric. Tugged the end of the tie, and they shifted until Greg was lying on his back and stretched long, and then Nick tied the other end to the headboard securely.

Nick sat back, straddling Greg's thighs, his eyes traveling over the length of Greg's body, all long lines and smooth skin. Ran his hands appreciatively down Greg's arms, his chest, his belly. Felt Greg's body responding to him, quivering beneath his touch. Rested his hands on Greg's hips, his thumbs brushing over the bones of his pelvis.

"This is a good look for you," Nick said, nodding.

Greg smirked. "Got me. Now what are you going to with me?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Nick reached for the nightstand drawer and grabbed the lubricant and a condom. Watched as Greg closed his eyes while he nudged Greg's legs apart and settled down between them, pushing his thighs back and exposing everything the young man had to offer. Slicked his fingers up with lubricant and circled Greg's entrance, his finger just pushing at Greg's hole but not breaching the tight ring of muscle. Not yet.

He continued to rub against Greg's asshole as he trailed his tongue up the length of Greg's cock, steel encased in velvet. Greg hissed at the contact, gasped as Nick's warm mouth wrapped around the head, his tongue circling the ridge and flicking over the sensitive underside. With his free hand, Nick palmed Greg's balls, tugging and massaging gently. Wouldn't take Greg's cock further into his mouth, only teasing the head, fingers still teasing his hole. Greg writhed beneath him, trying to push down on Nick's fingers but his binds would not allow him to move further down the bed; tried to push up into that mouth but each time Nick would back off.

"Nick..." Greg ground out through clenched teeth, face contorted in frustration, cheeks flushed.

"What?" Nick asked, rubbing his cheek up and down the length of Greg's erection. He pressed his lips against the hard flesh as he spoke. "Tell me what you want."

Greg groaned. "I don't...I don't want anything."

_Stubborn_, Nick thought, and then sat back, abruptly removing himself from Greg's body. Greg cried out in surprise, then clamped his mouth shut._ So, so stubborn. _Nick only smiled innocently, shrugging casually.

"Okay," was all he said, and then he was climbing off of the bed and leaving the room. He nearly laughed at the expression of shock etched across Greg's face, at the way he frantically began to pull at his binds.

"Wait!" Greg cried, his voice breaking. Nick paused in the doorway. "You can't...you can't leave me like this!"

"Sorry, I didn't hear you," Nick said, turning his ear towards the man tied to his bed, sporting what appeared to be a painfully hard erection. "I thought I heard something that sounded like begging."

"I can't...I didn't..." Greg stammered, his muscles straining against the tie as he tugged fruitlessly. He finally stopped, resigning himself to his fate, and sighed as he dropped his head back in defeat. "Please."

"Please what?" Nick asked, climbing between Greg's legs, reaching for the condom, his own painfully hard erection indicating he really didn't have it in him to continue teasing Greg or taking anything nice and slow.

"Please fuck me, Nicky" Greg said, breathlessly, desperately, and the words continued to rush out of him. "Please, Nick, give it to me, I want it so bad, I want you inside of me, fuck me, please, please."

"Shh," Nick soothed, leaning forward to silence that mouth with his own. He slicked himself up with lube, pressing gently against Greg's hole, waiting for him to adjust to the intrusion before pushing forward. Felt Greg opening for him, inviting him inside, and Nick's cock was encased with tight heat. "God, you're so tight."

"Nicky," Greg sighed, face contorting slightly as he accepted Nick's large girth into his body. And then his features relaxed and he let out a long, low moan that almost sounded like relieved, hysterical laughter. "Love your big hard cock inside of me."

"Love to be inside you," Nick stated, and it was true. Yes, there had been times where their roles were reversed, but there was nothing Nick loved move than entering his lover, claiming him, possessing him and shooting his seed deep inside of that hot, velvety channel. He had never before felt so connected to someone while doing this, conscious of Greg's every emotion, hyper-aware of his pain and pleasure. Wanting it to feel good, dying to impress, begging to please. His heart fluttered at the sight of Greg's face twisting in rapture, his chest tightened at the sounds uttered so softly into his ear. And as Greg came hard between their bodies, as Nick felt himself topple into the abyss of ecstasy, he wondered if it would ever stop feeling this way, and he surely hoped not.

* * *

"Must've been some night out for you to crash at your friend's, huh?" Nick asked innocently, pouring Greg another cup of coffee as they sat in the kitchen, slowly waking up before their shifts started.

Greg's pursed his lips once, twice, before speaking. "It was okay."

"Have I met this friend?" Nick asked, his back turning towards Greg as he faced the sink, unable to stand the look of self-satisfaction and amusement written all over Greg's face.

"You haven't met any of my friends."

"Right," Nick conceded. "Just, you know...want to make sure he – or she – is a good friend. Someone you can trust."

"I trust all my friends."

Nick dared to glance over his shoulder, turning his head sharply. Greg had his chin propped up on his fist, smiling like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Nick rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink, busying himself with rinsing out the coffee pot. He wasn't going to ask, because it wasn't really his business, was it? They hadn't discussed exclusivity, because Nick wasn't sure if he was ready to have that conversation, and Greg hadn't mentioned the topic anyway. But they spent all of their time together, ate together, slept together. Those things had to mean something, right? It should just be assumed, shouldn't it, that they shouldn't be doing those types of things with other people?

Nick scrubbed furiously, the thought of someone else claiming Greg's body causing him to nearly rub a hole right through the glass coffee pot until he felt arms encircling his waist and a chin on his shoulder, and he relaxed.

"You're cute when you're all worked up," Greg said softly, and Nick turned to face him with a blush creeping into his cheeks. "He's just a friend. A straight friend that lives with his wife."

"Sorry," Nick breathed quickly, shaking his head. "I'm not – I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are," Greg stated, smiling. "But I like it." Gently, their lips met. Greg winked before moving back to the breakfast bar to resume drinking his coffee, and then a troubling look darkened his features. "There was something though."

"What's that?" Nick asked, pulling out some cereal from the cabinet, pretending not to worry.

"There was this guy at the bar," Greg said, brow furrowed. He almost appeared uncomfortable, giving Nick pause. "He was like...really weird."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Greg admitted, shrugging. "He was just...I think he was hitting on me, but he was kind of acting like he knew me from somewhere. I don't know, he was just weird."

"What did he look like?" Nick asked, not because he wanted to know if he was good-looking. He was concerned at Greg's reaction to this man, almost asking as if he were speaking to a victim at work, wanting a description of the suspect.

"He had these really thick glasses. Kind of short, dark hair."

"He didn't try anything, did he?" Nick asked, gripping the cereal box hard.

"No, no," Greg promptly assured him, shaking his head. "He was nice, I guess."

Greg was suddenly hesitant. Scoffed as if reconsidering, shaking his head dismissively.

"What?" Nick asked.

He laughed then, nervously. "He said his name was Nick. Weird, right? What a coincidence."

Nick frowned. He didn't believe in coincidences.

* * *

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

Greg had expressed interest in fieldwork on several occasions, to Nick and to others at the Crime Lab. He'd been peeking in on more and more cases, asking questions and listening intently. Nick knew Greg was smart. Knew he'd gone to some kind of accelerated high school, had graduated early and had attended Stanford with a full scholarship. So he knew Greg was observing and absorbing and learning with each new case. They didn't actually let him do anything, but sometimes they'd ask Greg to take notes, which Nick thought was just a way to give him something to do and keep him out of their hair.

Nick hadn't realized how seriously Greg was taking this until he'd followed Greg into his apartment one morning and saw the living room floor littered with books and magazines and printed articles from the internet and photocopies from the library. Saw that Greg had kept all those pieces of paper covered with messy scribbles and diagrams, and had used them to research on his own time. Greg had almost appeared sheepish when Nick had seen it, quickly gathering his studies and shoving everything into a corner.

So Nick supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. But he was surprised when Greg showed up to the bus crash scene, wearing only a sweater and an expression of naive eagerness Nick often saw in the university's cadets but no longer saw in the faces of Sara or Catherine or Warrick. And he was kind of annoyed that Greg hadn't discussed this with him, or given any kind of inclination that he was coming out to the scene. He knew what Greg did at work was his business and not Nick's, and that he didn't have to ask Nick permission to do anything. So if Greg wanted to come to a scene, Nick knew it wasn't his place to tell him not to. Not that Greg had asked for his advice anyway, Nick noted bitterly.

They were given their orders, and of course Grissom had assigned Nick the task of babysitting, which only served to further irritate him. Warrick and Sara got to make time on the asphalt sweeping the accident scene, and here he was stuck keeping track of Greg and making sure he didn't touch anything.

"You're taking my notes," Nick stated, more gruffly than was probably necessary. "You didn't bring a warmer jacket?"

"No," Greg responded simply. Nick offered him a withering stare before turning and walking away.

Diligently, Greg wrote down all of Nick's notes while he interviewed the bus driver, and later Nick would be impressed at the extent of them but for now he was still in such a foul mood. When the driver suddenly collapsed and had begun coughing up blood, when Greg could only stand there frozen in shock, Nick probably should not have yelled at him. After the driver had expired, which would have happened regardless if Greg had been able to do something other than stand there like a deer in headlights, Nick probably should not have told Greg he shouldn't be there.

"No disrespect, but you're not qualified to be here." Casually, he'd said it, not as if they were lovers, not even friends, because they weren't. They were only coworkers when they were at the lab and now in the field, and if Greg couldn't take the heat then he needed to stay out of the kitchen.

"I guess I just wasn't expecting blood to look like that," Greg offered lamely, as they climbed down an embankment towards the crash site. "Pre-collection is so different."

"I remember my first time in the field," Nick stated. "CSI 1, green as could be. Initial call was a robbery. I get there – triple homicide. Blood all over the place. Mother and two kids."

"How do you deal?" Greg asked quietly, a wavering of uncertainty in his voice.

"You just do," Nick responded curtly. He glanced back, catching sight of wounded brown eyes edged with humiliation, and now Nick was upset because he felt guilty for hurting Greg's feelings. These weren't things he was supposed to worry about at crime scenes; he was supposed to be investigating, not thinking about how much he wanted to take Greg into his arms and soothe the hurt away. With a sigh, Nick joined Grissom at the front end of the bus, which had turned onto its side during the crash. "What's next?"

"Well, we're missing a passenger," Grissom stated. "The only one unaccounted for is an ex-con named Calvin McBride. According to Brass, he wasn't admitted to the hospital, and he's not in any of the body bags."

"Could he have disembarked at Barstow?" Nick asked, trying to ignore Greg's shivering out of the corner of his eye.

"CHP is looking into it."

"Anybody check the bus?" Greg asked. Nick glanced over his shoulder, glaring, but Greg only shrugged. Of course someone would've checked the bus, Nick thought, but when he looked at his supervisor, it appeared that may not have been the case.

"I'll find out," Nick sighed, taking off his jacket to climb inside of the broken front windshield, and he could've offered it to Greg, because that's what a boyfriend would have done – maybe even a friend – but instead he tossed it to the ground.

"Is it safe?" Greg blurted out, and Nick felt a cold hand on his forearm, stopping him. He looked back at Greg, dubious at the falter in composure. Quickly, the young man removed his hand and took a step back, but his face was still etched with worry. "I mean – I just..." A quick glance at Grissom, then back to Nick. "If it's not safe, you shouldn't go in there."

"I'm sure it's fine," Grissom said, and indicated for Nick to continue with a gesture of his hand.

Nick's heart was pounding between his ears as he climbed into the bus, hearing Grissom and Greg chattering on about inconspicuous places to find dead bodies as if they were far, far away. He couldn't believe Greg had touched him and spoken to him that way at work. It was unprofessional, it was embarrassing. He didn't need anyone doting on him like a concerned boyfriend when he was at a scene, especially not in front of his supervisor.

"Something going on between you two?" Grissom asked, after Nick had cleared the bus and sent Greg back to the lab with DNA evidence.

"What?" Nick turned sharply to face his supervisor.

"I asked if something was going on with you," Grissom stated. "You seem distracted."

"Oh! I thought you said..." Nick began, and forced a smile. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Just haven't babysat since I was fifteen, forgot how stressful it is."

Grissom only quirked an eyebrow before nodding once and turning his attention back to the scene, and Nick let out a sharp exhalation of relief. Nick had thought there were lines he and Greg didn't cross at work, but perhaps he should have been clearer. One more slip like that and then the entire lab, the whole _LVPD_ could know about them. And what then? Everybody would know Nick's business, that he liked to sleep with men – that he liked to sleep with Greg Sanders. They were going to have to talk about this. Something like this couldn't happen again.

He found Greg later in the DNA lab, looking rather sullen as he sat in a chair at the counter and signed off paperwork. He glanced up at Nick's entrance, anguish in his features, and everything Nick had wanted to say suddenly left him. For the second time that night, he had to fight the urge to reach out and touch, to comfort Greg and tell him everything was going to be okay. It was ridiculous, this power that he allowed Greg to have over him. Nick was used to being in control of his life, and lately he felt like everything was just spinning out of control.

That green coffee mug and shoes by the door and hair product on his bathroom counter. Couldn't sleep without Greg's warm body beside him. Couldn't even jerk off without thinking about the sounds Greg made when they had sex. Greg had wormed his way into Nick's private life and now he was following Nick right into the field. It was too much, it was just too much.

"Greg – "

"I know what you're going to say, and I'm sorry," Greg interrupted quietly, and Nick was relieved Greg had already realized his mistake. At least Nick wouldn't have to wound his pride for the second time that night.

"We have to stay professional," Nick urged, his voice low.

"I know I messed up. It won't happen again."

"We have to keep this between us, okay?"

"You think it will hurt my chances getting into the field?" Greg asked, his brow knotted.

"I think it could become a problem if certain people wanted it to be," Nick stated, shifting uncomfortably as his eyes watched the door. "If people started talking."

While Nick was sure coworkers dated all the time, especially when working crazy hours such as theirs and the only people you really had a chance with were those who worked those crazy hours right there with you, this was another reason he didn't date coworkers. It could easily become a problem if someone like Ecklie or the sheriff wanted it to be. Their relationship could be considered a conflict of interest, could be considered jeopardizing to their cases. Someone could question test results in the courtroom, if the CSI's samples were run by the same man he was sleeping with.

"Everybody's already talking."

The words felt like a physical punch to his gut. He sucked in his breath, eyes glaring at Greg in disbelief. How had everybody heard? Had Grissom said something? There had been so many people at that scene, did a paramedic or firefighter see the way Greg had touched him, had spoken to him? Or had people already been talking, and he just had never noticed? He had never been interested in following the office's rumor mill like Warrick or Catherine did, but maybe he should have been paying attention. He and Greg _did_ spend a lot of their breaks together, and once Nick had given Greg a ride to work when his car had been in the shop. Had people started talking then?

"They know?" Nick asked, barely audible to his own ears. "Everybody knows?"

"Well, yeah," Greg responded, dropping his head into his hands. "It was the first thing I heard about when I got back."

"What are they saying?" Nick asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You know," Greg began slowly, as if it were obvious. Nick swallowed the acid burning in the back of his throat, bracing for the inevitable. "That I froze up out there. That I couldn't do anything but stand there while that guy was bleeding all over the place."

Nick grabbed the counter with white knuckles, swaying unsteadily. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Oh."

"Oh?" Greg asked, puzzled as he looked up. "What did you think they were saying?"

"Nothing," he responded quickly, shaking his head.

Greg frowned. "What did you think I was talking about? Did you think I was talking about – ?"

"Look, are you sure this is something you want to do?" Nick interrupted, speaking more harshly than he'd intended.

"Go out into the field, or…?" Greg asked, hesitantly. "I don't – I don't know what we're talking about anymore, Nick. Are we talking about me, or are we talking about..." – a quick glance at the doorway, and he dropped his voice – "…us?"

And Nick wasn't sure what happened at that moment. He wasn't sure if it was the stress of thinking he'd nearly been made, the embarrassment of having Greg express his concern during a crime scene, the idea of having his personal space invaded at home and now at work, but the words were coming out of him before he had a chance to filter them, his voice rising as he spoke harshly to the young man in front of him who probably didn't deserve it, but once Nick had started he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Greg, you're good at what you do," Nick began, and Greg leaned back in his chair cautiously. "But it's a whole different ballgame out there. It's not a controlled environment like you have in here. You can't just go out there and expect to do anything besides get in everybody's way. You're a DNA technician, Greg. This is what you know, this is what you do. So do it."

"Everybody starts somewhere," Greg argued hastily, but his voice was edged with insecurity. "You were a cop before you decided to become a CSI, right?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because I already had experience out in the field," Nick stated. "I was out there every day on patrol, responding to calls, maintaining crime scenes. You're in a _lab,_ Greg."

"I know that," Greg snapped. "The only way I'll get any experience is if I actually leave it."

"CSI is _my_ thing," Nick blurted out suddenly, and immediately realized how ridiculous that sounded. Greg rolled his eyes, his lips quirking in one corner of his mouth, and Nick knew – he _knew_ – Greg knew what this was about. Greg was encroaching on his territory, and he didn't like it. Quickly, he continued, cutting Greg off before he could make some stupid witty comment, and he said the one thing that he knew would end this argument once and for all. "Look, I just don't think you have what it takes."

Nick was not sure he had ever seen such a look of hurt in Greg's eyes before, and immediately his chest tightened at the realization that he had been the one to cause it. Greg opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words wouldn't come, and instead he clenched his jaw, blinking back what Nick had to assume were tears but he'd never seen Greg cry before.

"Hey, Greg, I've got – " Sara paused in the doorway, her gaze traveling back and forth between the two men. She recovered quickly, glancing back over her shoulder. "I was just dropping off these samples..."

Greg cleared his throat, reaching out his hand. "I'll get right on them."

"Okay," she said, stepping further into the room to hand them to him. "They're from the crash scene."

"I'll page you when they're done."

"I prefer to wait, if that's okay. They're really important."

Her eyes cast to Nick, as if _he_ were the one to have interrupted something and not the other way around. She placed her hand on Greg's back possessively, immediately assuming Nick had to be the guilty party for whatever tension was in the room, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly Greg meant to her. And now two sets of eyes were glaring at him, and he took that as his cue to leave.

* * *

Nick began feeling that he might've been a little too hasty when speaking to Greg earlier as soon as the girl in the hospital bed began crying.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him," she said, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. She had been on the bus, and he had been chasing after her in his car. She'd told him at the previous stop in Barstow to leave her alone, that she needed space. And that was the only thing she would ever remember about her boyfriend from this moment forward, that she had yelled at him, and it was the last thing he would ever experience in this life before crossing into the next. She would never be able to apologize or make it right, and here Nick was taking advantage of the fact that Greg would be there tomorrow.

Nick shouldn't have yelled at Greg. They just need to talk, Nick just needed to tell Greg that he was feeling overwhelmed and he was sorry he took it out on him. That maybe they should slow down a little bit, form some kind of game plan, _anything_ so that Nick could feel like he had some semblance of control over his life again.

Upon his return to the crime lab, he made a beeline for the DNA lab to apologize, but the young man was nowhere to be found. Nick had seen his car in the parking lot, knew he was still here, and had searched high and low before wondering if he'd gone up to the roof. Nick had not been aware there was even roof access until Greg had taken him up there one night to share takeout, and he supposed there really wasn't access per se, but Greg had figured out how to shimmy the door open. The young man had admitted one night that he would go up there to decompress when some shifts became too stressful, and now Nick found himself sneaking up there too now and again. He noted the cigarette butts and various detritus and sometimes wondered how many others came up there to get away.

When he climbed the stairs to the maintenance entrance to the roof, the door was propped open only a couple of inches with half of a broken brick. He pushed the door open enough to squeeze his way through, carefully closing it back onto the makeshift doorstop. Stepped quietly onto the rooftop's gravel and caught sight of Greg huddled on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees. Cautiously, he approached the young man, and as Nick got closer he could see his back shuddering, could see the light of the city reflecting off of the tears on his cheeks, and Nick's heart nearly broke in two at the understanding that he had been the cause of this.

"Hey," Nick said quietly, startling Greg, who immediately turned away and began wiping furiously at his face. Nick knelt down in front of him, his expression softening.

Greg glared at him defiantly. Ground out between clenched teeth, "I'm _not_ crying."

Nick had to smile at that, just a little bit. "Okay." Greg turned his attention to the right, back to the skyline, his red-rimmed eyes almost searching. They sat there in silence for a moment, until Nick tentatively reached out and placed his hands on top of Greg's, which were clasped in front of his knees.

"I'm really sorry about earlier," Nick said. He could see Greg's jaw working, his brow furrowing, but the young man remained quiet. "I was out of line." Nick sighed. "Come on. Talk to me, babe."

And he didn't know where the endearment came from. He didn't know why he'd said it. It just came out, and it terrified him that it felt so natural. Greg heard it too, turning to look at Nick in surprise, and it must have triggered something because then he began to cry again.

"I'm such an idiot," Greg said, angry tears escaping from his eyes. "I'm so tired of being stuck in that lab and the one chance I have to get out of it, I blow it completely. Everybody's talking about me and how I screwed up, and then you yelled at me, and I – I just – God, I'm so stupid. I don't know what I was thinking, I'm never going to be a CSI."

"Greg, that's not true," Nick murmured, leaning forward on his knees and running his hands up and down Greg's biceps soothingly. "I didn't mean anything I said. I've just had some stuff going on and I took it out on you. I do think you have what it takes to be a great CSI."

"No, you don't," Greg said, but his eyes looked so hopeful Nick had to swallow a lump in his throat. As if what Nick thought about Greg's performance really mattered to the young man, and that was a dizzying thought in and of itself. "I was terrible out there. I froze up and I didn't do anything except get in your way."

"You just need more field experience," Nick said, nodding. "And you're right, you'll only get it by leaving the lab. Listen, I know you, G. You're a quick learner, and I can tell you really want this. You'll get it, you just have to be patient."

Greg pouted adorably. "You're just trying to make me feel better."

"Is it working?" Nick asked, smiling as he leaned closer to Greg, who was trying not to smile as well. He reached out with two hands, slipping them on either side of Greg's face and brushed away his tears with his thumbs. Very, very sweetly, Nick brushed his lips against Greg's, before leaning his forehead against the young man's, and he wasn't sure how long they were sitting like that when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sara was holding a cigarette, although Nick was sure she had quit smoking over a year ago. Her mouth was agape, her eyes wide as she stood frozen, the cigarette clutched between her forefingers so hard Nick was sure she would break it in half.

He shoved himself away from Greg so roughly the young man fell onto his back on the hard gravel. Quickly, Nick scrambled to his feet, stumbling past Sara and heading for the stairway with lightning speed.

"Nick!" Greg called, his voice strained with panic. "Nick! Shit. Shit!"

"I didn't see anything," Sara stammered hastily, and then repeated, "I didn't see anything."

But she had. She had seen everything. Nick couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He had to get out of there, he had to go. He had to find some way to erase this moment, this mistake that he had been so adamant about Greg not making. A hand on his arm at the bus crash, words expressed with worry, that was nothing compared to this. Greg just did something to Nick that made him stop thinking before speaking, acting. His life had spun out of control right before his eyes, and he had allowed it to happen because of this infatuation, this obsession. And now Nick had so carelessly revealed all of his cards, and he would never be able to take it back.

* * *

He was sitting on the floor against the inside of his front door, still wearing his work clothes, tightly clutching a bottle of whiskey and listening to the phone ring over and over. He wasn't sure how long it was before the ringing finally stopped, and he sighed with relief. Took another swig of whiskey and felt himself begin to relax.

Sudden, frantic knocking on the door startled him, the vibrations running through his spine and causing him to nearly drop the bottle in his hands. More knocking, and then the desperate pleading began.

"Nick, please open the door. I saw your truck outside. I just – can we please just talk about this?"

He closed his eyes tightly, clenched his jaw. Found himself digging his heels into the floor, pressing his back against the door as if he were the only thing stopping it from opening.

"Nick, please open the door and we can just talk. We can just talk."

There was a long pause.

"Nick, _please_."

And this time, the words were spoken brokenly, the sound piercing right through his chest and straight into his heart. Hot tears escaped his eyes as he clutched the bottle tighter in his hands, and then he heard a car starting, leaving his driveway, and he was finally alone.

* * *

To be continued. I hope you're enjoying so far. Please leave me some reviews! I'm not above begging. *begs*


	9. Chapter 9

The phone rang, causing Nick to nearly jump out of his chair. He waited with bated breath as the answering machine picked up, waited to hear that voice that had left several other messages, and sighed with relief as his state representative reminded him that it was voting season and he'd better make sure he was registered.

Greg had called a handful of times since they had last seen each other on the roof, but he hadn't stopped by Nick's house again, thankfully. It had taken all of Nick's willpower not to open that door upon hearing the desperate pleading from behind it, and he wasn't sure he would've been able to stop himself had Greg tried again. It was an odd sensation, when the person you would usually seek comfort in ended up being the same person you were trying to get away from.

It had been two days since he'd had last seen him. Nick had called work last night and told Grissom he wasn't feeling well. He hardly called in sick, always came in early and on his days off when asked, so he knew that while his request to stay home may have raised suspicions with his supervisor, he also knew it would be granted.

Tonight, however, he supposed he'd have to face the music. He kept trying to form some kind of game plan, some kind of speech that he would give Greg. He kept trying to remind himself that they had only been seeing one another for a few weeks, nowhere near enough time for either one of them to have any kind of messy feelings that would disrupt their lives. They could just go back to being friends – no, coworkers, because they had never really been friends, had they?

Anxiously, he rode into work, attempting to drown out his thoughts with loud country music that Greg had always complained about listening to in the truck. Parked in his usual spot, got out of his vehicle. Noted Greg's car on his way in, just like he always did; a habit he needed to break. Took a deep breath, stepped inside of the crime lab, and headed for the lockers.

Eventually, he knew that he and Greg would have to talk. He was just hoping that they could have some privacy when they decided to talk about what had happened and what they were going to do from there forward. That they could work together, like the professionals they were, and then later, when they were alone, they could have a conversation.

He could immediately tell this was not something Greg was willing to give him when he spotted the young man standing right against Nick's locker, arms crossed, eyes dark. Nick paused in the doorway, his heart hammering in his chest as he averted his gaze before continuing into the room. He approached Greg, unable to look at him but feeling that hard glare burning into his skin.

"Excuse me," Nick said quietly, and Greg shifted over.

"So that's it?" Greg asked, his voice low. "You aren't going to talk to me anymore?"

"Not here," Nick responded. "We can talk about it later."

"When?" Greg pressed. "When you decide to answer the phone or open the door?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," Nick offered harshly, fumbling with the combination, suddenly unable to recall the three numbers he'd had memorized for at least five years.

"Anything at this point, Nick," Greg said, leaning closer, trying to get Nick to meet his eye, but Nick couldn't bear to look at him. He was acutely aware that they were in the very public lockers, where anyone could walk in at any time. "I talked to Sara, she isn't going to say anything. She doesn't care."

"I care," Nick stated, as he pulled the door handle on his locker, but it wouldn't open.

"So there's nothing that can fix this?" And while he was still speaking quietly, Nick could hear the tremor in his voice.

"Don't you understand, Greg?" Nick asked, attempting the combination again, jerking the handle roughly, but the damn thing wouldn't budge.

"No, I don't," Greg pleaded. Finally, Nick looked up, meeting those expressive eyes that always gave away everything Greg was feeling, and it was no different now. Sadness, fear, desperation – hope. "Make me understand."

"I have a career, a reputation!" Nick hissed.

"A reputation?" Greg asked, taking a step back in surprise, and now Nick could see something new in his eyes: disgust. Greg began speaking loudly, heatedly, and Nick quickly glanced at the door nervously, his heart racing. "What, you can't be seen with a guy like me?"

He wasn't sure if it was the anxiety of having this conversation right here in the lockers, where anyone could walk in, of just wanting the conversation to be over, just wanting to go back to his work, to his life, but Nick found himself blurting out before he could stop himself, "No. I can't."

Greg stared at him for a long moment, his mouth open as if he were trying to find the words, but they wouldn't come. He looked away, scoffing as he shook his head in disbelief, and when he looked at Nick again, his eyes were full of fire. "Wow. You're an ass. And that's not your locker, idiot."

Nick looked up at the number on the front of the locker, rolling his eyes as he realized it was indeed not his. He dropped his head against it with a dull thud, closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed heavily.

He _was_ an idiot.

* * *

Sara had always made Nick nervous. She was difficult to read, if only because she always appeared so serious. When she was sad, she was serious. When she was angry, she was serious. When she was happy, she was serious. So when he saw her, sitting at the table in the break room with Warrick and Catherine, waiting for assignments, she looked serious. And he had no idea what that meant.

He kept his eyes glued to one of his case files from a couple days ago that required a final reviewing before submission to the records department, his eyes scanning the pages but he couldn't see the print. He could only see Sara, out of the corner of his eye, watching him intently with narrowed eyes.

"Nick?" He glanced up at the sound of his name, and thankfully it hadn't been uttered by Sara. He looked at Warrick, who was smiling. "I asked if you were feeling all right. You didn't even hear me, bro. You need another day to recuperate?"

Nick laughed nervously. "No, no, I'm fine. I think I had just a touch of the stomach flu or something. Maybe food poisoning."

"Let's stop right there," Catherine said, holding out her hand as if to stop him from continuing. "We don't need any more information."

He could hear Catherine and Warrick speaking as he continued to pretend to read the file in front of him. He dared to look up at Sara from beneath his eyelashes. She was watching him, frowning. He returned his gaze to his paperwork, tapping his pen nervously on the table. He wasn't sure how long he stared at the words in front of him before there was a hand on his, slender fingers belonging to Catherine, silencing his loud tapping.

"Sorry," he murmured, dropping the pen onto the table as Grissom walked in.

"Okay, guys, we've got a busy night," his supervisor informed them, and Nick was grateful for once at the abundance of crime in Las Vegas, needing a break from his own life to focus on the unfortunate lives of others. His respite was short lived however, as Grissom informed him he would be working a homicide with Sara. "Dead body found at the country club in Summerlin."

"Great," Nick said, taking the slip of paper from his boss. He forced himself to look at Sara and smile pleasantly; he wondered if it appeared as strained as it felt. "Ready to go?"

"Snobs and dead bodies," Sara commented, smiling at Nick, and he felt a breath escape him that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "My favorite."

They worked the scene for quite a few hours, falling into their usual routine. He felt as if he were balancing precariously on a cliff, waiting for her to say something and push him right into the abyss, but she never mentioned anything about what she had witnessed just two nights earlier. By the time they were driving back to the crime lab, he was just starting to believe that maybe she never would. Sara didn't exactly have a strong grasp on reading others' emotions; she hardly had a grasp on her own. Perhaps her detached and awkward approach to the world and the people in it would finally fall in Nick's favor.

"My money's still on the ex," she was saying, as they walked down the hallway towards the Trace Lab to check on results. "She's pissed that she's stuck with alimony, while his new wife gets to live the life she was meant for."

"I don't know," Nick replied, shaking his head. "How would she have subdued him? She's got to be one hundred pounds soaking wet."

"Don't underestimate the power of a scorned ex," she warned, just as Greg was rounding the corner and heading straight for them. Nick felt his breath catch in his chest, recovered quickly and tried to remain calm.

He forced a smile, ignoring the man walking towards them. "Speaking from personal experience, Sar?"

Greg's eyes traveled from the floor to the two CSIs. He smiled tightly. Nodded, continued walking.

Immediately, Sara turned to Nick, hissing, "What did you do?"

He regarded her dubiously, his eyes shifting to either side of the hallway. "I didn't do anything."

"Did you break up with him?" she asked.

"We were never in a relationship," he responded quickly.

"Is it because I saw you?"

"No, Sara, we – "

"I wasn't going to say anything, you know."

"Are you listening to me?" he asked, his voice edged with irritation.

"Are you listening to _me?_"

He opened his mouth, attempting to find the words but they weren't there. He snapped his jaw shut angrily; he didn't need to defend himself to her. She knew nothing about his relationship with Greg – or lack thereof. She only believed in the young lab rat because he fawned over her and hung on to every word she said, and he had her wrapped around his finger because of it. He fell back on his previous thoughts, wondering exactly what she saw in him. Someone to love like a little brother? Like a friend? Like a _boy_friend? Bit back the possessiveness bubbling up inside of him, the irrational emotion fueling his irritation.

"It's none of your business, Sara," he snapped. "Like I'd take relationship advice from someone like you anyway."

He walked away from her briskly, wondering how to erase her shocked and hurt expression permanently from his memory.

* * *

He was inside of the supply room, searching for the right sized gloves to restock his kit with when he heard the door open. He glanced back between the maze of shelves, catching sight of a thin frame in a lab coat that he immediately recognized. Fuck. He quickly ducked behind a stack of cardboard boxes, attempting to remain out of sight. The last thing he needed was to run into Greg in such a tight and intimate space. He kept his breath short and even, kept his body still despite the tremor that was building in his hands, and he was almost sure the young man would hear his heart pounding against his rib cage.

He watched Greg search the shelves close to the door, his hands reaching for some kind of solvent. His brow knotted as he turned the bottle and read the label, before his eyes began to search the shelves again. _Come on, _Nick thought. _Find what you need and get the hell out of here!_

The door opened again, Sara's tall figure darkening the doorway. Greg glanced at her, before turning his eyes back to the shelves.

"Hey," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly behind her. Nick stepped back further into the storage room.

"Hey," Greg replied, his voice small in the large space.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, tentatively resting her hand on his shoulder, and Nick frowned.

"I don't know," he said honestly, his shoulders slumping. He nervously fidgeted with the bottle in his hands. "I just...after the bus crash, and then this...I just kind of feel like a fool, you know?"

"Don't," she assured him, rubbing comforting circles on his back. "You did fine out there in the field. And Nick..." She trailed off, her mouth open as if to speak, but she seemed at a loss for words and instead only shrugged helplessly.

Greg leaned his head against the edge of one of the shelves, the dull impact echoing throughout the room. "I knew it would be a mistake, Sara. I knew I shouldn't do it. But it was Nick, you know? I would've done anything for him to notice me. And when he finally did..." He shook his head, sighing audibly. "God, I'm such a sucker."

"No, you're not," Sara stated. "Maybe he just got spooked."

Greg shook his head. Scoffed. "He said...he said he couldn't be with a guy like me. That it would ruin his reputation."

Sara seemed surprised. "Nick said that?"

"Kind of. I asked him. He didn't disagree."

"Nick's an idiot," Sara stated. "You've got a lot to offer, Greg. Anyone would kill to be with a guy like you."

"I don't see you knocking down my door," Greg said, offering his most charming smile, and Nick rolled his eyes at the blatant come-on. "Unless that's an offer."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to handle the Greg Sanders Experience," Sara responded, as she struggled to compress a smile. "Want to go get some breakfast after shift? I'm buying."

"Sure," Greg responded, and they slipped out of the supply room.

Nick sighed heavily, leaning against a set of shelves but his tense body wouldn't relax. He rubbed his face with his hands wearily, frowning as he reflected on the conversation he'd witnessed in secret. Damn Greg for having such high expectations of him! Nick was only human, he made mistakes and had flaws just like everyone else. It wasn't Nick's fault that for God knew how long Greg had harbored some kind of attraction or feelings or whatever it was that – love? Was Greg in love with him?

That was ridiculous. Greg didn't even know him. They weren't even friends, as the young man had so blatantly informed him so long ago. And yet Greg's words echoed in his head.

_It was Nick, you know?_

_Because it was you._

_It was always you._

* * *

To be continued. Thanks for all of your kind words and follows and favorites and whatnot! 3


	10. Chapter 10

While it had been nearly a week since their last real conversation, they had seen each other at work in passing or when Nick had to drop off evidence. And while they had spoken briefly, remained civil if not tense, Nick still felt trepidation when entering the DNA lab. Still felt as if the pressure cooker inside of Greg would explode at any moment, with just the wrong word or movement. Still waited for the revenge, the spite, other shoe to drop, just like with so many other of Nick's scorned lovers. Except Kristi, but given the chance she probably would have joined the long line of mistakes Nick had made.

Today was no different. Nick could feel the electricity in the air as he stepped inside of the DNA lab, prickling at the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Greg's back was to the door as he typed at the computer, entering results from a print out. Generally, he would just drop off his evidence; maybe smile and nod politely, but tonight he had to ask for a favor, and he wasn't sure how Greg would react. Nick opened his mouth to call his name but only sighed, feeling awkward in his own skin. Instead, he rapped on the door frame with his knuckles, clutching an evidence bag with white knuckles.

Greg turned at the sound, his eyes darkening at the sight of Nick. He turned back to the computer, but not before Nick caught sight of Greg's features contorting into a sneer, and Nick would have never believed someone so beautiful could look so ugly. Abruptly, Greg turned back to him, wearing a pleasant smile, and now Nick was sure he was in some sort of _Body Snatchers_ situation.

"Give it to me," Pod Person Greg said, holding out his hand. At Nick's shocked expression, he nodded towards the evidence bag still in Nick's hand. "Whatever you've got. Give it to me."

"Uh, it's hair from my missing person's case," Nick stammered timidly, handing him the bag. "It's time sensitive, if you could – "

"Sure," Greg said, nodding, and he placed the bag beside him, separate from the pile of everyone else's samples.

"Really?" Nick blurted out.

"Yeah," Greg responded, turning towards the computer once more. "You said it's time sensitive, right? I'll get right on it."

"Thanks," Nick said, and nodded with satisfaction. Greg wasn't vindictive or spiteful, he wasn't like any of the other people Nick had ever dated. He was rational and understanding, he was an adult, just like Nick. Willing to let bygones be bygones. Water under the bridge. Any myriad number of idioms Nick could think of. "Hey, Greg?" The young man looked at him expectantly from over his shoulder. "Thanks for being professional."

Greg rolled his eyes, laughing mirthlessly. He shook his head, once again returning his gaze to his computer. "You think I wouldn't be professional?"

"No, I just – " Nick stammered, immediately realizing he'd said the wrong thing, wondering if now was the moment the pressure cooker would choose to explode, leaving bits of Nick all over the lab windows. "I just appreciate that – "

Greg held up his hand sharply, and Nick promptly shut up.

"I'll page you when this is done," Greg stated, and Nick nodded as he quietly left.

* * *

He was standing in a bathroom in a modest home, and there was a woman slumped over a toilet, as if she had passed out after vomiting from a long night of partying and drinking too much. Her hair had been dyed red, before or after she had been murdered, Nick couldn't tell. But there was something about the image that struck him as bizarrely familiar. He'd stared at her for ten full minutes before Grissom asked if he knew her, and while he had wanted to say yes, he was sure he'd never seen her before.

It weighed heavily on his mind as he processed the crime scene with Catherine and Grissom. So much so that he hadn't really been paying attention when Catherine had said it to him. _"You would've gotten it eventually…crime-stopper." _Drove back to the crime lab with some evidence to process, still distracted by the girl in the bathroom. Thought about her as he navigated the hallways of the crime lab, passing a row of clipboards on the walls, and that was when he saw it.

"_CRIME STOPPER: Nick Stokes_," read the large title of the department newsletters that Nick had desperately tried to pretend had never existed. He could've have sworn he'd collected every last one of the damn things and appropriately destroyed all of the evidence, but apparently he'd missed one. He sighed as he ripped the paper off the wall and continued towards the break room to find Sara and Warrick giggling like two school girls as they read the article to each other.

"You went Hollywood on me, man," Warrick teased.

"And I quote, 'in his off time,'" Sara read, struggling not to laugh, "'he enjoys creating and inventing toys.' That's fascinating…what kind of toys do you make, Nick?"

"I thought I got my hands on all those departmental newsletters," Nick stated, frowning. "Where'd you get those?"

"Greg," Sara and Warrick chorused, and Nick felt his heart drop.

"Yeah, that figures," Nick muttered, and Sara's smile disappeared as her eyes met his. Quickly, Nick changed the subject to something that was safe, something that he knew: work. "All right, listen. Grissom wants us to divide and conquer. Blond hair for you, Warrick – "

"I do love a blond," Warrick quipped, grabbing the evidence back from Nick.

"Sara, you're on phone records," he said, and made haste in retreating – but not before snatching up that damn newsletter, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash.

"Hey, I wasn't done reading that!" Warrick crowed, the amusement evident in his voice, and Nick felt his cheeks burning.

"Yes, you are!" Nick retorted over his shoulder. So there it was, the other shoe dropping. How foolish he'd been to believe that Greg wasn't capable of the same vindictiveness, the same bitterness that Nick had encountered with so many other previous lovers. Greg was supposed to be different; he was supposed to be mature and understanding and sweet and incapable of such malice.

Then Nick remembered that sneer, and considered that maybe he'd been capable of it all along.

* * *

"Heard you were looking for me."

Nick was fuming the shopping bag he had recovered from the crime scene in an attempt to obtain fingerprints when Greg's timid voice came from behind him. Immediately Nick froze, his shoulders tensing at the words.

"Greg," Nick called, turning to the young man and smiling, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. Greg hung back, his expression displaying his trepidation. "Come here, I want to talk to you for a second. Come on."

"What's up?" Greg asked, stepping further into the room, and Nick threw one hand over his shoulders, grabbing his shoulder firmly, roughly pulling him close. And he hadn't meant to be so aggressive, but his tense muscles were radiating with an energy composed of both anger and anxiety.

"Stop invading my privacy, man," Nick hissed, acutely aware that this was the longest time he'd gone without touching Greg. Felt the hair on the back of his neck rising, the skin on his body lighting up with fire. Hated that Greg still had this power over him, hated that he couldn't force his body not to respond. "I don't like it. I'm just trying to do my job around here. I don't need the extra attention."

Greg nodded, but Nick could see the challenge in his eyes, because of course Greg always had to get the last word. "Okay. But, I mean, you are the one who's doing the 'forensic spotlight' in the department newsletter."

"I didn't do anything, man," Nick stated, gripping harder on Greg's shoulder, satisfied at the gasp elicited from those lips, and Nick wondered if the bruise he would leave on Greg's shoulder would look like all the other ones he'd ever left him when their passion had become so intense it had blossomed into near violence. "Someone from the community wrote a letter of commendation, Public Affairs ran it. Cool?"

"Cool," Greg agreed, and Nick released his grip. Greg straightened out his clothes, frowning at the bag in the glass tank. "So is this how it's going to be now? Between us?"

"You started it," Nick retorted, and it sounded rather immature to even his own ears.

"I don't think I did," Greg said softly, and then he was gone.

Nick knew he was right. Nick had started this whole thing, hadn't he? He'd kissed Greg in the lab. He'd gone to Greg's apartment first. He'd pushed him away, left him on the roof, initiated…this. Whatever it _was_ that was between them now. And Nick damned himself for ever letting it come to this.

* * *

He was finally, mercifully, finished with his shift. All he wanted to do was go home, watch some of his one-hundred-and-fifty channels, drink a beer, and go to bed. And forget about how screwed up his life had become, hopefully find some solace in the fact that maybe, eventually, one day, things would go back to the way they used to be. Before Greg fucking Sanders.

"Hey, Nick!" Sara called, her footsteps falling swiftly behind him.

"What?" he groaned, but didn't stop walking. The door was right there. Right in front of him. He could see the daylight outside, so close.

"Nick, wait up!"

"What?" he snapped, spinning around to face her, and she was so close she nearly walked right into him.

"It was just a joke – "

"So that's what I am now?" he spat, his anger flaring. "A joke?"

"No," she replied hastily, holding her hands out in a pleading gesture. She spoke quietly, but indignantly. "Don't you understand? He's just trying to get your attention."

"I don't need attention like this!" Nick hissed.

"Maybe if you would just talk to him or – gee, I don't know – acknowledge his existence?" Sara suggested, frustrated. "You went from friends to more than friends to enemies, Nick. He thinks you hate him."

"I don't hate him," he offered lamely, an unbearable sadness twisting around his heart at the words, tightening like vines.

"He doesn't know that," she said harshly. "The kid idolized you, and you crushed him."

"That's not my fault he put me on a pedestal!" Nick insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "I'm not perfect, Sara. I make mistakes too."

"That's glaringly obvious," she retorted. "There were better ways to handle it." She paused briefly, hesitant, her features softening. "There still are. You can still fix this, you know." He glared at her, his heart pounding in his chest, heat in his ears, but he said nothing. He couldn't. Because she was right. "Even if you don't want to go back to what you were, at least stop treating him like he did something wrong. He deserves better than that."

He watched her walk away from him, and sighed in defeat. He _hadn't_ handled this well. He'd pushed Greg out of his arms that night on the roof, pushed him right out of his life without another word. And whose fault was it, exactly, that she had seen them? Was it Greg's? Was it Sara's? Nick had been the one to falter in his discretion, not the other way around. He had been the one to dare to kiss Greg on the roof of the crime lab, no one had forced their way into his privacy, Sara had merely inadvertently stumbled into it.

Why hadn't Nick been able to control himself? What was so distracting about Greg that made Nick succumb to tunnel vision? To only be able to hyper-focus on him? He had seen him on that roof crying, and everything else had disappeared. He just wanted to comfort, to touch, to kiss away all his pain; damn everything else.

He didn't ever remember experiencing something like this before. He was in foreign territory, he didn't like it. Didn't like the loss of control, the loss of stability. But he had to wonder…what did it mean? Why hadn't he ever been here before, with anyone else? Why was he here now, with Greg?

It didn't matter now. He'd effectively made sure Greg knew Nick hated him, as Sara had so eloquently put it. Had made sure there was no way Greg would ever regret their relationship ending, if one could even call what they had a relationship. Like Sara had said, Greg deserved better. And he'd get over Nick and find someone new, someone who could give Greg everything he wanted. All or nothing.

_Nothing._

* * *

Nick had a hard time remembering now what he'd done with all of his time alone before he'd had anyone to talk to or eat with or sleep beside. He was sure his life hadn't been quite this boring, and as he made himself a sandwich in his kitchen with nothing except his thoughts for company, he considered that perhaps he just had to get used to the quiet again. Get used to not hearing the excessive chattering that Nick had sometimes found irritating, especially when he was just waking up and hadn't yet had his coffee. The loud music that sometimes began playing before Nick had even gotten out of bed. Video games with the volume turned up so high Nick could close his eyes and believe he was in an actual war zone.

Nick sighed as he deposited his knife into the sink. Rinsed it off, placed it beside the green coffee mug that still rested in the drying rack. He had quietly returned the rest of Greg's things, leaving them in the corner of the DNA lab while Greg was off one night, but somehow he had forgotten to grab this. Hadn't taken it any other night since then. He knew it was there, that it didn't belong to him, and yet there it remained, in his possession. Gingerly, he reached out and brushed his fingers against the ceramic, as if it might break at the slightest touch.

He turned away from the sink, just like he always did, and left that green mug right where it was. Grabbed his food and powered up his laptop, logging on to the internet. Sighed as he checked his e-mail, one eye on the television. Smiled fondly as he read an e-mail from his high school prom date, who had dug up some pictures in her attic. Scrolled through while laughing and remembering how drunk they had all gotten in the hotel room later that night.

His smile froze as he caught sight of the last picture. His prom date was slumped over the toilet, passed out. The exact same pose as the girl in the bathroom at the crime scene this morning.

* * *

To be continued. There are 3 chapters left. Thank you so much for all of the kind words! I so appreciate you reading and I hope you're enjoying.


	11. Chapter 11

Another assault. It had been nearly a month's time, and Nick had followed every lead and piece of evidence to a dead end. It had eaten away at him, not being able to solve these cases, and this time it ended with the murder of Dean Acker. He couldn't help thinking that if he had done something more, if he had fit together the puzzle pieces correctly, maybe he could have prevented this, just like he could've prevented Michael Webster's death.

Two men had been walking home from one of the local gay bars taking a shortcut through an alley. Approached by three, four, or maybe five men, all wearing masks. One of the victims had managed to escape, a middle-aged blond that perhaps could have been handsome save the purple, mottled bruising on his face. He was sobbing, chest heaving, tears escaping his swollen eyes, snot and blood running out of his broken nose as the paramedics and police officers attempted to restrain him from entering and contaminating the scene.

Nick tried to tune out the wretched sounds as he processed the scene, his lips in a tight line, brow furrowed. But the man's wails echoed off of the brick in the narrow channel surrounding them.

His partner was dead. They had been together for over a decade. They'd just had a commitment ceremony at a winery in Napa Valley, California, last year. They were thinking of having children, of adopting. How was he supposed to tell his mother-in-law? How was he going to live without him?

"Shame, huh?" Brass murmured, indicating the grieving man with a nod. His eyes traveled to the several cameras and reporters at the other end of the alley, bright lights and loud voices violating what should have been a private moment for both the widower and the deceased. By now, these assaults had gained traction in the news, and since it had been so long since the last one, the press was out in full force to sink their claws into a juicy story. "We gotta do something about this, Nicky. Fast."

"You're telling me," Nick said, kneeling down to run a swab over the forehead of the body. There had been a similar oily substance on two previous victims as well, and he would bet his paycheck it was olibanum. "The sheriff called me the other day. The sheriff. I didn't even think he knew who I was, let alone my phone number."

"I don't have to deal with seeing his face too much anymore. Feel much sorrier for Grissom."

Nick shook his head. "I don't. He gets paid for stuff like that. I get paid to get on my knees in an alley."

Brass offered him a smirk, careful to hide it amongst the attention of the press, but Nick could see the glint in his eye. He wagged his finger at the CSI, shaking his head. "This is why they keep you on the night shift."

The screaming man was gone now, on his way to Desert Palms Hospital where Nick would have the pleasure of meeting him later and adding insult to injury by asking probing questions and putting his hands all over his body in search of evidence. And while the scene was quiet now, save the reporters' soft murmuring in the background, he could still hear those cries in his head. So violent they threatened to tear that man apart, if his partner's death hadn't already done it.

Nick wondered what it would feel like to love someone that much. So much that if they died, he wasn't sure how he would be able to go on. It was terrifying to imagine needing someone that much. To imagine giving so much of yourself to another person you would never be whole again. But would you want to be?

He wondered what it would feel like to know someone loved _him_ that much. To have someone need him. To have a part of someone that would only ever belong to him. And Greg had been willing to give that to him. All or nothing, the young man had asked. As if it were that simple. Had offered his all to Nick as if it were that simple. Maybe for Greg it was. Maybe he was used to trying.

Maybe Nick could've had that life, if only he would've tried too.

Reaching into his kit for a fresh bindle, Nick glanced up briefly to the crowd at the end of the alleyway, and maybe he wouldn't have seen him standing there if he weren't wearing such a bright shirt. Ian Reed was frowning, his bright blue eyes focused intensely on the dead body on the ground, and Nick knew instantly the young man was imagining how easily that could've been him. Another man came up behind Ian, and Nick would've noticed him no matter what color shirt he was wearing. Leaning close to Ian, Greg whispered into his ear, slipped his hand into Ian's, tugged gently away from the scene. Ian turned slightly, his eyes never leaving the body but he nodded in silent agreement to whatever it was Greg was suggesting – probably to get out of there.

Greg looked up, meeting Nick's eyes, his expression unreadable. Turned away as if they didn't even know each other, slipping into the crowd with Ian in tow, and then they were gone.

"Doesn't take a detective to figure that one out, huh?" Brass commented, and when Nick glanced at him, the detective was nodding toward the space in the crowd Greg had previously occupied.

Nick cleared his throat, shrugging noncommittally before turning back to the scene. "Is the coroner getting here sometime today?"

"Let me check up on it for you," Brass responded, pulling out his radio and stepping away.

Nick released a deep breath, clenching his jaw so hard he was sure his teeth would turn to dust. Felt an absurd stinging in his eyes as he considered how foolish he had been to believe Greg's words – _because it was you, it was always you. _Considered how wrong he had been, all this time, to think he had been the only one Greg would give that part of himself to, that he had been special. That he had meant anything at all.

Nick shook his head with disbelief, scoffing at his own naiveté. God, he was an idiot.

* * *

"Hey, G," Nick greeted, stepping inside of the DNA lab and holding an evidence bag. The young man had his back turned to Nick, reaching high into a cabinet, and only stiffened slightly at Nick's voice. It was an expected response these days, but Nick ignored it, as they were slowly getting more comfortable working together again and he wasn't about to ruin that by doing something stupid, like talking out their feelings. "I finally got the clothes from my assault vic' from the morgue. Only took three days. I guess Robbins was pretty backed up. Think you can get it processed for me tonight? These cases are getting pretty hot, sheriff's breathing down my neck."

"Uh, sure," Greg replied, and continued to rummage through the cabinet. "Just leave it right there."

"Here?" Nick asked, placing the bag on the countertop beside the evidence Greg was currently working on.

Greg turned only slightly, enough to look over his shoulder before quickly returning his attention to the cabinet. "Yeah. That's fine. I'll get it next."

"Great. I'll come back in a couple hours and check up on it, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Greg said, nodding to the shelves in front of him. "It'll be ready."

"Thanks," Nick said, smiling cordially to Greg's back, and then headed towards Trace to grab his results from his ongoing assault cases.

Things were getting easier now that Nick knew where he stood. There were no more what ifs, no more maybes. Greg had moved on, and so would he. So he went back to his routine, back to his old life. He returned to the quiet of his home, the privacy; to not having someone invading his space, creating messes and unnecessary clutter. Returned to four pillows, to the large expanse of bed that had felt like a twin when he would wake up with Greg crowded around him. Was able to watch whatever he wanted to on television, to relax on his couch without someone sprawling out across it before he had a chance to sit down. He was in control of his life again. Eat, sleep, work, repeat.

And that was just how he liked it.

Things seemed to be getting easier at work too. There were hardly any awkward exchanges, only professional conversations regarding work. Perhaps now that Greg had something – someone – else to focus on, he had stopped paying so much attention to Nick. The CSI could go in and out of the DNA lab without incident, even ask for favors, albeit sparingly. The tension was slowly dissipating, although Nick never fooled himself into believing their old camaraderie would ever return. He hated that he had ever allowed himself to cross that line, to give in to his most private fantasy, to lose his self-control. He missed the easy conversation, the rapport, the flir—no. Not the flirting. That was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

Sometimes, though, Greg would make a joke. Sometimes, he would smile at him, a real smile. A secret smile. And those were the times Nick felt most reassured that they would be okay. They were also the times he felt the loneliest. The times he felt such a longing in his chest he was sure Greg could feel it, could see it as if it were a physically altering ailment. He didn't dare believe the young man felt the same way, because Nick knew now he wasn't the only one Greg shared those smiles with.

It didn't matter anyway, because they had never been serious. Greg made that blatantly obvious with how quickly he moved on, right back into the arms of one Ian Reed.

"You know," Hodges said, breaking Nick from his thoughts, "if you want to brood, you can do it somewhere else."

"I wasn't brooding," Nick stated, as he flipped through the test results in his hands that Hodges had handed him several minutes ago. "I was just thinking."

"Your thinking is distractingly loud," the other man said.

Nick rolled his eyes and quickly changed the subject. "Is there anything else you can tell me about this olibanum stuff? I don't know anything about it, and you're supposed to be some kind of king of trace, aren't you?"

Hodges narrowed his eyes, then sighed. "As a matter of fact, I do know more about it, which you would too if you knew how to open a book or search the internet or read. Olibanum is harvested from trees by slashing the bark in a process called stripping. It allows the resin to bleed out and harden. The hardened resins are called tears, and the aroma from these tears are valued for their presumed healing abilities and are also said to have superior qualities for religious ritual."

"Religious ritual?"

"Yes," Hodges affirmed, nodding. "Your olibanum is commonly referred to as frankincense."

Nick frowned. "So this might be some kind of religious extremism thing?"

"How many times?" the Trace tech asked, shaking his head ruefully. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't do speculation? I only do facts. If you want someone to ramble off inane hypotheses, why don't you ask Sanders? He's always happy to run his mouth, which I'm sure is what got him that shiner in the first place."

"That what?" Nick asked, snapping his head up in surprise.

"Shiner. As in black eye? Knowing him, he probably deserved it."

Nick regarded Hodges dubiously, his mouth agape, brow knotted. He had been to the DNA lab twice tonight. Remembered walking into the room, dropping his evidence into the queue and leaving without a word, but the second time he had literally spoken to him, only a few minutes ago, asking him if he could prioritize his evidence. Nick recalled how Greg had kept his back turned to him. Remembered the hasty way Greg had agreed, keeping his focus on rummaging through a cabinet for some elusive supply, and Nick couldn't believe he allowed his own personal feelings to hinder seeing what was right in front of him. He was an investigator for God's sake; he should've known something was wrong.

"No one deserves violence," Nick spat, and his expression must have been something because Hodges suddenly appeared quite nervous. "You should know that, especially working here."

The trace technician had the decency to look ashamed as Nick swiftly turned and strode towards the DNA lab, clutching his test results so hard he imagined the paper disintegrating in his hands. Caught sight of Greg through the glass walls, his eyes focused down a microscope, the bruising on his face still not visible to Nick. He didn't hesitate as he pushed the door open, slamming it against the wall loudly, startling the young man, who looked up, and that's when Nick saw it: purple and swollen bruising on the left side of his face, closer to his jaw, although it had still caused some bright red hemorrhaging in the white of his eye. Fresh and angry and ugly and heartbreaking.

Quickly, Greg turned his face away. Nick crossed the room, grabbing Greg's chin and forcing him to turn back, examining the bruise with wide eyes.

"What happened?" Nick asked, more forcefully than he intended, but the anger was bubbling up inside of him, dangerously close to boiling over.

"I'm fine," Greg stated, pushing Nick's hand away and taking a step back.

"I didn't ask you how you are," Nick snapped, taking a step forward, his eyes searching for Greg's, but the young man wouldn't meet his gaze. "I can see how you are. I asked you what happened."

"Nothing happened. I'm fine."

"Who did this to you?" Nick asked, as Greg made haste in busying himself with a stack of papers on his workstation. Nick glanced at the door, before turning back to the young man and dropping his voice low. "Did Ian do this to you?"

Greg turned sharply, dubious. "No, Ian did not do this to me."

"Greg," Nick warned, stepping impossibly close to the young man. "You can tell me what happened, or I can find out on my own. Tell me which do you prefer?"

Greg sighed with resignation, his shoulders slumping. "You know those assault cases you've been working on?"

Nick felt his breath escape him. "Oh, Greg…"

"It's nothing," Greg said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"How badly did they hurt you?" Nick asked, his voice small. He had studied the case files; he knew exactly what kind of injuries the victims had sustained. Not only physically assaulted, some had been sexually assaulted as well. Semen on clothes, on skin. One victim had been sodomized.

"I'm fine," Greg repeated, but he wouldn't look at Nick.

"Greg, did they – "

"No," he responded, shaking his head vehemently, and Nick felt relief flood his body. "God, no."

"Did you report it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you aren't the only one that doesn't want his business all over this lab," Greg retorted. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly appearing suspicious. "Or is it the evidence you care about?"

"No," Nick assured him, incredulous that Greg would believe otherwise. "It's you I care about."

Finally, Greg met his eyes, surprised and timid and so fucking hopeful, and Nick couldn't stop himself. Everything else faded away except the man in front of him, the man he wanted to comfort and protect and fight for, the man he had so stupidly pushed away, and he reached out, placing a hand on top of one of Greg's, which had been resting on the counter top. The young man flinched, the skittish response squeezing Nick's heart tightly, drawing his eyes to the movement, and Nick could see purple bruising on Greg's wrist – a perfect handprint. Greg must have noticed the attention and pulled his hand away, tugging his shirt sleeve down, and his expression transformed from shame to anger in a matter of seconds.

"Careful," Greg sneered, turning back to his work. "Don't want anyone to see. It could ruin your reputation."

"Greg – "

"I'm fine, Nick," the other man said forcefully, as if he kept repeating it, it would be true. "Just leave me alone, okay? I have a lot of work to do and I don't need this on top of everything else."

Nick set his jaw, nodding as he swallowed the lump in his throat that tasted a lot like guilt. Went back into an empty evidence room with his box of ever-accumulating files, spreading them out over the backlit table. His fingers traced over the names typed in black ink on white labels: Justin Moore, Timothy Wojick, Gordon Crudo, Daniel Riley, Ian Reed, Michael Webster, Dean Acker. And an empty folder with no name on it, although he knew whose would be there had the latest victim chosen to report it. How many other names would there be? How many other victims had not chosen to remain unknown for similar reasons?

He pored over the evidence, looking for anything that he'd missed, any connection he hadn't made. Pulled the latest results from Hodges, trying to will his hands not to shake as he recalled the Trace tech's mocking words about Greg's black eye. Dean Acker was the third victim that had the oil on his face, the same oil used in religious rituals. That had to mean something, and he felt a crawling under his skin as his eyes scanned over the names of the victims.

Daniel Riley. A minister at his local church whose DNA had been found on another victim a month later. A victim that had died with olibanum on his body. Riley had garnered injuries from his assault, but had refused help when the police had been called by a witness. When Nick had read the police log, he had assumed it was because Riley was a minister with a wife and child, and that he had been too embarrassed or ashamed. Perhaps his victim had not been a victim at all. Perhaps he had been one of the attackers, a religious zealot covering up his injuries with a fabricated story about how he'd been beaten up outside of a gay bar.

Of course, being a minister and having a few victims with frankincense on them wouldn't get Nick a warrant by any stretch of the imagination. But it only took a quick internet search to find out which church the good pastor worked at. Only took a quick fifteen minute drive to get there. Another ten minutes to browse the gift shop and buy a bottle of anointing oil. And in a few hours, once the oil had been matched to the olibanum found on his victims, Nick was waiting for Detective Brass to call him once they'd located Daniel Riley and brought him in for questioning. Of course, conveniently, he hadn't been home when they'd served the arrest and search warrants to his wife, but hopefully the unmarked police car parked on the street would catch him coming home soon.

"Nick, what are you still doing here?" Grissom asked, peeking his head into the break room. Nick glanced up from his seat at the table, case files spread out before him. "Aren't you off tonight?"

"Yeah," the younger man responded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just waiting for Brass to call me when my suspect comes in, figured I'd get some paperwork done while I wait."

Grissom frowned. "There's no need for you to wait here. Go home. Brass will call you."

"But I – "

"While your dedication to CSI is noble," Grissom interrupted, and Nick knew there would be no room for argument, "even you need to take a break from this place sometimes. Now go home."

"Oh, yeah, when's the last time _you_ took a break from this place?" Nick asked, and he looked up in time just to catch Grissom's amused smirk before his expression returned to a neutral state.

"If you want to take your paperwork home, just sign out the files. Goodnight, Nicky."

Resigned, Nick stood and gathered his files, signing them out at the admin desk before heading home. Unlocked his front door and stepped into his quiet and empty house. Ate his takeout alone at the kitchen counter, drinking beer as he read over his reports, tapping his foot against the barstool anxiously.

And he tried not to. He tried to focus on the words in front of him, but his mind kept wandering to that bruise on the side of Greg's face, to the perfect handprint curling around his wrist like a morbid tattoo. He kept imagining Greg alone in a parking lot, an alley, surrounded by three or four or five or more men. Imagined darkness and taunting voices and fear and pain. Imagined Greg's face pushed into pavement, porcelain skin marred by unrelenting fists and boots, dead eyes staring back at him as he photographed the crime scene and listened to David estimate the time of death.

He tried to push the images out of his mind by numbing his brain with alcohol, gripping the bottle of the fourth beer he'd consumed within an hour hard as he drank the entire beer in four long pulls. Angrily, he threw the empty bottle into the trash, satisfied when glass shattered in a loud explosion. Grabbed another beer from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes tightly and silently willing the guilt in his chest to subside.

What had Greg been thinking anyway, going out to some gay bar knowing what was happening all over Vegas? What had Nick been thinking, letting Greg out of his sight? He had failed all of these men, and now he had failed Greg – someone he knew, someone he cared about. Jesus Christ, he could've been _killed_, and it would've been Nick's fault. If he hadn't been so selfish, so focused on his own fears and insecurities, none of this would've ever happened. They would have been together, Greg probably wouldn't have even gone out, and if he had wanted to at least Nick could've warned him. Could've convinced him to stay, stay in with Nick, in Nick's home, because it only felt like home when Greg was here.

He stared at the green coffee mug still resting in his drying rack. Considered the empty bathroom sink counter uncluttered with various hair products, the too quiet house void of chatter or music. Considered four pillows in his bed that didn't even matter; he could live with just one. Would gladly accept it if it meant Greg was lying next to him while hogging the other three.

Greg could frustrate him like no other. Greg could make him laugh and sometimes want to kill him, sometimes at the same time. Could make jealousy rise up in Nick's chest when he smiled at Sara, make him worry when he was too quiet or got that stormy look in his eyes. But most of all, Greg made Nick happy, and wasn't that more important than what Sara thought, or Warrick, or anyone else?

Nick swiped his keys off of the counter, quickly making his way out to his truck without a second thought. He had made a mistake – a big one. He didn't want Greg in his life, he _needed_ him, and he needed Greg to understand that _right now_. Carefully, he drove to the young man's apartment, concentrating hard on the road in front of him, and within twenty minutes he was parking his truck, his heart hammering in his chest so loud he was sure it would alert the entire complex to his arrival.

With a deep breath to calm his nerves, he climbed the steps to Greg's floor. It was late, but Nick was pleasantly surprised to see the lights on behind the closed blinds of the living room window, which faced the open breezeway. He hesitated only briefly before knocking, steeling himself as he waited a few tense minutes before he heard the distinct sounds of the door unlocking.

He frowned at the sight of dark hair and blue eyes staring back at him. This was not only the last thing he needed, but it was the last thing he'd expected. The young man was wearing a white tee shirt and athletic shorts, and Nick wondered if that was usually what he wore to bed. When he slept in Greg's bed.

"What do you want?" Ian asked, one hand firmly on the doorknob, the other against the doorframe. As if to block Nick's entry, like Ian would be able to stop him anyway if he decided to barge in.

"I want to talk to Greg," Nick ground out, his jaws working hard against one another.

"He doesn't want to talk to you." Ian smirked almost imperceptibly before attempting to close the door, but Nick stuck his boot in the entryway, his palm flat against the cheap wood.

"Then let him tell me that," Nick stated, his entire body vibrating with rage, and he swore if he ever dared to wipe that perpetual smirk off of Ian's face the subsequent time in jail would be entirely worth it.

"Ian, what's going on?" he heard from within the apartment, and it was Nick's turn to sneer. "Who's at the door?"

"Just a solicitor," Ian replied, opening the door further and stepping aside as Greg came into the doorway. "I tried to tell him you weren't interested in buying whatever he's selling, but he wouldn't leave."

Greg cast Ian an exasperated look before turning to Nick. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," Nick responded quickly.

"Is everything okay?" Greg asked, his brow knotting as worry clouded his features.

"It's fine, I just…" He shifted his gaze to Ian and then back to Greg. "Can we talk privately?"

"He doesn't want to talk to you," Ian interjected, shoving himself in front of Greg. "You had your chance, Stokes."

"Ian, I can – " Greg began.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Nick interrupted, taking a threatening step closer to Ian as his anger flared.

"Why don't you get out of here and leave us alone?" Ian shot back, jutting his chin out and standing up straighter. Posturing to fight. "You're pathetic, you know that?"

"Ian!" Greg snapped, forcing his way between the two men and pushing them apart. "Let me handle this! Just wait inside. Jesus."

He ushered Nick outside, who caught sight of Ian rolling his eyes before Greg pulled the door closed behind them. When Greg looked up, Nick realized how close they were standing. Close enough to feel Greg's body heat against his chest, and he fought the urge to reach out and pull the young man close to him, to kiss him until Greg could feel everything, until he _knew_ everything without Nick having to say a word.

"Greg…" he started, whispering quietly, and suddenly Greg frowned, his nose crinkling.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked, looking up at Nick with surprise before taking a step back. "Jesus Christ, did you drive here like this?"

"I only had a few beers" Nick hastily said, shaking his head. "I just needed talk to you, I couldn't wait."

"I'm not interested in talking to you," Greg stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Come on, G, just hear me out," Nick conceded, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. "I made a mistake, I don't – "

"Oh, what?" Greg spat, waving away Nick's words with distaste. "Because those guys could've killed me, now you feel bad for treating me so shitty? And then what? You're going to make me all kinds of promises, say all the right things, and when we get to work, you're going to remember everything about me that embarrasses you? That you have a _reputation_? A _career_? That you can't be _seen_ with a guy like me?"

"I don't care about any of that stuff anymore. I just care about you."

Greg scoffed. "I've had it with this routine, Nick."

"Please, I made a mistake," Nick stated – pleaded. "I'm sorry."

"Save it!" Greg nearly yelled, his face contorted in anger, but suddenly he gritted his teeth, and when he looked up at Nick his expression was pained. "You know what? I thought you were this great guy. You were charming and smart and so fucking noble, always doing the right thing. I looked up to you. I wanted to _be_ you. Ever since I first saw you. But you're not a great guy, Nick. You're a jerk, and I don't _ever_ want to be someone like you."

Greg's words hit him hard, a physical blow to his chest that took the breath from him. He swallowed hard, his eyes stinging as he rubbed his mouth with his hand. Greg was wrong, Nick wasn't a bad guy, he was just a guy that had made a mistake. He just needed Greg to understand that, he just needed more time to find the words. Greg was turning away then, back towards the door, and Nick grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Please, Greg," Nick said urgently. "Let's just go somewhere and talk about this."

"I'm done talking," Greg stated, tugging against Nick's grasp. "Just go home."

"No, we need to talk about this!" Nick exclaimed, pulling Greg closer.

"Let go of me."

"We can just go somewhere quiet and – "

"Nick, you're hurting me," Greg said quietly, his eyes cast anywhere but at Nick, and suddenly Nick realized how hard he had been gripping the other man's wrist. Realized it was the same wrist that was already bruised from his assault. Realized that Greg was scared – scared of _him_. And the sound of Greg's breath quickening, the visual of bruises under Nick's hand –

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered, releasing Greg and taking a step back, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. "I'm so sorry, Greg. I never meant to hurt you."

Greg only nodded, still not meeting Nick's gaze, and Nick turned quickly, heading for the stairs. Climbed into his SUV and slammed the door, gripping the steering wheel hard as he realized just how right Greg was. He wasn't a great guy. He was the worst kind of guy, and Greg was better off without him.

* * *

To be continued. Reviews are love! Thanks for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't until the following afternoon that Nick found himself sitting across from Daniel Riley in one of the interrogation rooms at the LVPD. Detective Brass sat propped up on one end of the table, hands folded on his lap casually, but his eyes were as sharp as always, his penetrating stare causing Riley to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"So Mr. Riley," Nick said, leaning forward in his chair slightly, carefully watching a bead of sweat crawl down Riley's neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt. The man tugged uncomfortably at his tie, and Nick imaged those large hands on Greg's body. Forced himself to swallow down the rage dangerously bubbling up inside of him. "You were attacked outside of Pulse about two months ago, correct?"

"I suppose," the man responded evasively.

Nick forced a cordial smile. "You either did or you didn't. So which is it? I've got a police report here that says witnesses saw a man getting beaten in the back of the parking lot, and you were the only one with injuries when they arrived."

Riley cleared his throat, averting his gaze. "I'm a minister. I have a wife and a child. I was only there trying to help a friend."

"A friend," Nick repeated, nodding. He shared a glance with Brass, whose eyes were glimmering with amusement. "Okay. Did your attackers say anything to you?"

"No."

"They didn't say or do anything to indicate why they were targeting you?" Nick asked.

"No."

"Don't seem to know a lot, do you?" Brass asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Riley shrugged apologetically. "Sorry I don't have more information for you."

"Well, maybe you can tell me how you know Gordon Crudo," Nick stated, pulling out a picture of the decedent and sliding it across the table.

"I don't," Riley responded, frowning, and his eyes remaining focused on the photo as Nick continued.

"Maybe you can tell me how the frankincense got on him?" Nick asked, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. "My lab matched the frankincense found on him to the same frankincense in your church. And not only was that same frankincense on Gordon Crudo, but so was your DNA."

"Can't explain that either, can you?" Brass said with a sigh.

"I don't – "

"Can you explain how frankincense got on Michael Webster and Dean Acker?" Nick asked, cutting him off, and he tossed their photos on top of Crudo's. "They're both dead too, by the way."

"Sounds like three counts of murder to me," Brass commented, shrugging helplessly.

"No, it's not – " Riley began, stammering nervously.

"You know all about frankincense, don't you, Mr. Riley? Being a minister and everything," Brass interrupted, and then he leaned forward with both hands braced on the table. "Let me tell you what I think. I think you're some kind of Jesus freak trying to push his agenda on the gay community. A little fire and brimstone courtesy of Pastor Riley?"

"No," Riley disagreed hastily, shaking his head and pushing the photo away from him. He swallowed hard, his complexion pale, breathing ragged. "No, I can't…it's not like that. We're all God's children, I'd never hurt anyone."

"Then explain to me what's going on," Brass demanded, leaning closer. Riley was literally shaking with fear, and for a moment Nick was afraid he might actually fall out. "Because I think you know a lot more than you're letting on, and we've got enough here to charge you. You know what they'd do to a guy like you in prison? Nice, handsome, young pastor beating up on _fags_?"

Riley flinched at the word, shaking his head. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?" Brass asked.

"Can't," Riley clarified. "He confessed to me. I can't tell you and you can't make me."

"Then how did your DNA and the frankincense get on the victims?" Nick asked, sharing a glance with Brass. While it was true they could not charge Riley with obstruction of justice for withholding information due to his religious beliefs, it still didn't explain his own involvement in the crimes.

"He told me what he was planning on doing," Riley admitted. "The thoughts he was having. So I followed him that night. I tried to talk him and his friends out of it."

"That's when they assaulted you," Nick stated, and Riley nodded. "And the other nights?"

"I read those men their last rites. I anointed them with oil," he said, his expression pained. "They at least deserved that."

"Look, Mr. Riley," Nick began, his voice soft. "I know he confessed to you, but he didn't confess to everything, did he? Just tell me what he _didn't_ tell you."

Riley closed his eyes, rubbing his damp forehead with trembling fingers. When he sighed, Nick knew they had him.

"There are four of them," he said. "They're in the youth group at the church. They're only kids. They think…they think they're doing the right thing. They think they're doing God's work, because that's what he tells them."

"Who?" Brass barked.

"The ringleader."

"What are their names?" Brass asked, pulling out a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket.

"James Rosen," Riley said, pausing between names to give the detective enough time to write it down. "Michael La Croix, Jonathan Suarez, and…Jacob Riley."

Nick's eyes met Brass' before he turned back to Riley. "Jacob Riley?"

"My brother." Riley shook his head, swallowing hard as his eyes brimmed with tears. "He's the one that leads them. He's one of them."

Nick frowned. Something about the way Riley said it didn't sit right with him. "What do you mean, he's one of them?"

"He's gay," Riley admitted.

"Then why would he do this?" Nick asked, his brow knotting.

"Mr. Stokes," the other man began, pursing his lips twice before continuing. "Jacob is just scared. He fears who he is on the inside. He fears what he sees when he looks in the mirror, because he fears one day others will be able to see it too. To see what he is inside. He believes that by hurting these men, by acting outwards, no one will see into him, see him for what he really is. He's just scared." Riley's voice hitched, tears escaping his eyes as he shook his head. "He's just a kid and he's just scared."

* * *

"Nineteen years old," Nick said, as Grissom read over the case file Nick handed him for approval. "That's how old Jacob Riley is. Nineteen. The other kids were eighteen and seventeen."

"Old enough to know better." Grissom sighed, his eyeglasses in his hand as he chewed on the end of one of the arms absently. "What was the motive?"

Nick shrugged. "Daniel Riley seems to believe it's fear. Jacob doesn't want anyone to find out who he really is."

"If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you," Grissom stated, and Nick knew he was quoting something. "If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you."

"Who's that? Jefferson? Poe?"

"Jesus Christ," Grissom replied, and Nick's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Jacob Riley was looking for salvation by persecuting those who indulged in the same thoughts that consumed him. What he forgot was that salvation is personal and found through spiritual introspection."

"Just sounds like a confused kid to me," Nick stated, shrugging. "I'm just glad it's over. I'm looking forward to not having the sheriff breathing down my neck anymore."

"You aren't the only one," Grissom commented, and then handed Nick an address. "Nigel Crane. He's a utility worker for Luna Cable Company, had access to Jane Galloway's home. We need you to talk to him and find out what he knows."

Nick frowned as he studied the slip of paper in his hands, recalling the photo he had received in his personal e-mail a few days ago that looked just like Galloway at Grissom's crime scene, draped over the toilet. He peered up at his supervisor. "You think he had something to do with her death?"

"We're not sure," he replied, shrugging. "We know it was someone that had access to her home."

Nick nodding, recalling the photos of peepholes and cameras found inside of Galloway's attic, indicative of a stalker that had burrowed his way into her home. He shivered at the idea of someone invading anyone's privacy in such a way, especially when it ended in murder.

"I'm on it," Nick stated, standing from his chair and crossing the room.

"Take Warrick with you."

Nick paused, bristling that once again Grissom didn't trust him to go out on his own into the field. Even after solving such a high profile case. Even after the sheriff had personally called him and told him what a great job he'd done. Why should he expect anything like that from his own supervisor?

"Sure thing," he tossed over his shoulder, before shaking his head and heading out the door.

* * *

If Nick was sure his life couldn't get any worse, he was sorely mistaken. First, his unfortunate encounter with Greg that had gone drastically wrong, perhaps thanks to the copious amount of alcohol Nick had consumed before stupidly driving there while half-lit. Next, solving his string of assault cases without so much as a "job well done" from Grissom. And then, just to add insult to injury, today Nick had found himself thrown out of a second story window by a suspect, Nigel Crane, while processing his apartment for evidence.

Having returned from the hospital with a concussion, sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and three sutures above his eyebrow, Nick found himself shaking two Vicodin out of the pill bottle on his kitchen counter. While he hated taking narcotics and how woozy they always made him feel, the pain was beginning to get to him, and since he wasn't allowed to work for at least a week per doctor's orders, he figured it couldn't hurt.

Just as he had eased himself carefully onto his couch and began feeling the euphoric effects of the painkillers, he heard a light rapping on his door. He glanced at the clock, wondering who could possibly be coming to see him at this hour. Slowly, he extricated himself from the soft leather and headed towards the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's Greg." Nick paused in surprise, his heart racing as his Vicodin-addled brain tried to come up with any reason why Greg would be showing up at his door at one o'clock in the morning. And he must've been standing there for quite some time lost in his own thoughts because soon Greg was speaking again, hesitantly this time. "Um…are you going to open the door?"

Quickly, Nick opened the door, his eyes taking in the sight of the young man on his front porch, looking adorably worried. Greg smiled tremulously, raking a nervous hand through his hair, ducking his head and looking up at Nick from under his eyelashes in that way that always made his heart flutter, and Nick never thought he could love someone as much as he loved Greg right in this moment.

"Hey," Greg said, his eyes traveling over Nick's bruises and bandages, and the two battered men facing each other made quite an image in Nick's mind, possibly thanks to the painkillers. Greg seemed to pick up on Nick's amusement, chuckling gently. "I guess we're a matching set now, huh?"

Nick smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "So, what? I could've been killed and now you're here because you feel guilty for treating me so shitty?"

Greg rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, but he was still smiling. "I guess so. You gonna let me in?"

"What are you doing here anyway?" Nick asked, stepping aside so Greg could enter. He closed and locked the door, carefully making his way back into the living room with heavy footfalls.

"I'm on my lunch break," Greg stated, sitting tentatively in the armchair as Nick collapsed heavily on the couch once more. "I heard what happened today. Jesus, Nick, you look like shit."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it," Greg said, nodding vigorously. "You really look terrible."

"Tell me you didn't come all this way on your lunch break just to insult me," Nick groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back on the couch.

"No, no," Greg said hastily, and Nick felt the cushions dip as Greg moved from the armchair to sit down beside him. He opened his eyes, peering at the young man out of his peripheral vision, forcing himself to remain still. Watched as Greg reached out with one hand and placed it on top of Nick's, the one that wasn't in a brace. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I wanted to say I was sorry for what I said last night."

Nick slipped his hand out of Greg's grasp. "You don't have to apologize because you feel bad. I'm fine."

"I didn't mean what I said," Greg insisted, and now he was touching Nick's knee, cautiously, as if Nick might break beneath his fingertips. "I don't think you're a bad guy." He paused, smiled. "I do think you're a jerk though."

"I am a jerk," Nick conceded, and this time he placed his hand on top of Greg's. He shifted slightly, so that they were facing each other. Brought the hand in a brace to Greg's cheek, tracing the bruise there with gentle fingertips. Absurdly felt tears stinging in his eyes, and perhaps it was the Vicodin, but he really didn't give a damn anymore. He just knew this was his chance to tell Greg everything he'd ever felt, everything he wanted, everything he needed, and he might never get another one after this. He opened his mouth to speak, Greg's eyes searching his, awaiting something momentous when there was another knock on his door.

"Who is it?" Nick called, for the second time that night. He looked at Greg, the confusion on the young man's face reflected in his own.

"My name is Pearson," the voice on the other side of the door said. "Morris Pearson. We haven't met. I worked with Mr. Grissom on the Jane Galloway case."

Greg frowned. "When did your house become Grand Central Station?"

"I don't know." Nick pushed himself off the couch, allowing Greg to help him up. "It's almost one in the morning. What do you want?"

"I've had more visions," Pearson stated. "Please let me in."

"Visions?" Greg asked quietly.

"He said he's a psychic. Said he saw Jane Galloway's death," Nick clarified, unlocking the door and pulling it open. He turned to the slight man standing on his porch. "I can't just let you in my – "

"Please, please," Pearson begged, over and over again, and perhaps if Nick hadn't just recently taken 1000 milligrams of Vicodin he wouldn't have allowed the man to push his way inside. Greg took a hesitant step back, casting wary glance at Nick as the interloper looked around the living room. "I saw this house. I saw this house, I saw the number, I saw the street name. Something is wrong here. Something terrible is going to happen here."

"Sir," Nick implored resolutely. "You're going to have to leave."

"Please, please!" Pearson yelled. "Listen to me!"

"Get out of here!" Nick yelled back.

"Listen to me!"

"Wait!" Greg interjected, holding a pleading hand out to Nick. "Maybe we should just hear him out."

Nick sighed, hardly able to believe he was about to indulge a lunatic that had shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. "You saw my address?"

"Yeah, but that's not it, that's not it," Pearson continued. "I saw, I saw…I saw crashing. I saw…falling and crashing – I saw somebody seeing through the back of his head. I don't know, I don't know." Suddenly, the man swung around to face Nick, a look of epiphany on his face. "Green tea! Green tea! Does that mean anything to you? Green tea?"

"I don't know," Nick sighed, shaking his head. The sound of the house phone ringing jarred him, and he turned away from Pearson to answer it. "Hello?"

"Nick," Grissom answered from the other end of the line, his voice firm, but even with painkillers in his blood stream, Nick could hear the desperation. "Listen, he's been in your house."

"Who?" Nick asked, because there had been plenty of people in his house tonight and he couldn't really imagine one more fitting inside the walls. It was only a modest two bedroom/two bath, for God's sake.

"Nigel Crane, the stalker," Grissom clarified. "Brass is on his way with two uniforms to put at your door."

"Yeah, well, I'm not alone."

"What?"

"Your psychic is here," Nick stated, and then hesitated briefly. "So's Greg."

"Greg Sanders?" Grissom asked, as if that were more ridiculous than a psychic barging into his home at one in the morning. Greg turned at the sound of his name and met Nick's eyes, watching him carefully.

"Yeah."

"Good. Keep them there."

The line went dead, and Nick quietly returned the handset into the cradle, aware of Greg's eyes still on him as he reached into the small cabinet beside his phone to withdraw a gun he kept there. Turned to face Greg, unmistakable panic flashing across his eyes at the sight of Nick's weapon, and the young man tore his gaze away from the gun to look back at Pearson. Except Pearson was no longer in the living room, and the two men shared a glance before Nick cocked his weapon.

"Mr. Pearson?" Nick called, slowly walking down the hallway and checking his office, his bedroom, the back door. He peered out the window between the blinds, one eye trained on Greg, who appeared as if he just might faint. "Mr. Pearson, you back here?"

Traveling back down the hallway, he could hear the sounds of wood creaking although Greg was standing still in the living room. Heard a thump from above, met Greg's eyes before both men looked up. Nick paused only for a moment before aiming his gun at the ceiling and starting down the hallway again in an effort to make it back to Greg as quickly as possible.

That was when the ceiling collapsed. Nick ducked, his gun slipping out of his hand as a pile of plaster and sheetrock fell to the floor with a loud crash, dust pluming in white clouds around the body of Morris Pearson, who had landed on the green T in the center of Nick's rug. Nick cast a quick glance at Greg to make sure he was okay, the young man standing slightly bent on the other side of the debris, his eyes wide with shock.

"What the fuck is happening in your house right now?" Greg asked breathlessly, as Nick moved closer to Pearson to check for a pulse, but before Nick had a chance to do that or respond to Greg there was another man jumping down through the hole in the ceiling. The same man that had thrown Nick out of a second story window: Nigel Crane.

"Nick!" Greg yelled, as Nick scrambled for his gun in the debris, but Crane was faster and grabbed it first. He turned it on Nick, who stood quickly and took a step back.

"Oh, man," Crane said, shaking his head almost ruefully. "You got to…you got to watch who you let in here. Guy was snooping around all over the place. You know, smart move. Spare gun." He tapped the side of the gun twice for emphasis, moving backwards and pointing to the cabinet by the phone. "Ah. Keep it right by the phone, right? Right next to your address book and – and take out menus."

Nick took his eyes off of Crane and looked at Greg, whose chest was heaving with shaky breaths, fear etched on his face, and Nick wanted nothing more than to go to him, but he didn't dare move. The young man wouldn't look at him, only focused on Nigel Crane, who was checking the front door to make sure it was locked.

"Nick, that's the guy from the bar," Greg whispered. "The guy I told you about."

The guy that had hit on Greg, that had made Greg so uncomfortable Nick could practically see his skin crawling as he told Nick about it the following morning. The same guy that had told Greg his name was Nick, and Nick realized how close Greg had become to meeting the same fate as Jane Galloway, if not worse.

"Cops are on their way," Nick stated quietly, whether it was to Greg or Crane or himself, Nick wasn't sure.

"Yeah, I heard that," Crane responded, moving back into the living room to pull down the blinds.

That was when Nick noticed it. "Are you wearing my clothes?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm…" Crane trailed off, before turning to look at Nick almost proudly. "You know, I picked these up at the dry cleaners and I…I hope you don't mind. It's just that…I'm sorry, I just get a little confused about what's yours and what's mine." He turned his attention to Greg and smiled, almost affectionately, and Nick watched Greg stiffen in his periphery, eyes widening in horror. "I did enjoy seeing you wear my shirt, though. _Save a horse, ride a cowboy? _How apropos."

"You know what?" Nick blurted out, in an effort to get Crane's attention to focus on anything but Greg. "I'm a little confused here myself. Uh, why don't you refresh my memory? When did we meet?"

Crane regarded him dubiously. "Sports package. Hundred-fifty channels. I – I even threw in a few movie channels. Free. We talked like, forever. I mean, it's like I knew you my entire life."

"You installed my cable," Nick said, realization dawning.

"Yeah. The…the minute I met you, I knew we connected," Crane said, nodding. "Because you told me what you did, and I knew exactly what you were talking about because…that's what I do. I do it, too. You know, I observe people. I notice everything about them. I watch them. All the time."

"Like you watched Jane Galloway?" Nick asked.

"Jane was cool," Crane said, shrugging indifferently. "But, um, it would have never worked out between us, you know. Never. I mean, she had a boyfriend and she was kind of stuck up. And you know what?" he asked, focusing again on Greg, and there was that affectionate, dreamy smile that made the hair on the back of Nick's neck stand on end. "She would have totally, totally gotten between us." He turned back to Nick. "So, you know, consider that a gift."

"A gift?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. Prom night. Your date. Melissa," Crane stated. "Bent over the toilet puking her guts out. Is that ringing any bells, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You know, I mean, Jane's hair was the wrong color, but, you know, obviously I fixed that," he continued. "Because I know how much you love redheads." Another glance at Greg. "I guess I didn't realize you loved blonds more. You know, you…you mentioned his name in your sleep."

Nick swallowed the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat. "You watch me sleep?"

Crane turned his attention to Pearson's body still prone on the floor, crouching down beside him. "You, um…you want to open him up? Hmm?"

He heard Greg gasp beside him and quickly stepped forward to squat down on the opposite side of the body. "No, no, it's not my job. You should know that. It's the coroner's gig."

Crane glanced up, sneering. "Are you humoring me, Nick?"

"No," he replied hastily, shaking his head.

"You know…we made friends that day, and every time since you just blew me off. Do you know that? You just completely blanked me." He began breathing heavier, his face slowly contorting into anger as he stood. "You are so self-absorbed. I was right in front of your face. Manners, Nick! _Manners!_"

"Hey, now, Nigel," Nick implored calmly. "Now we got a D.B. here, huh? You're going to help me with the crime scene, right?"

"No," Crane stated, pointing the gun at Nick. "I'm going to give you a brand new one. I'm going to do better than that. I'm going to give you the best you ever had. Stand up, Nick. Stand up."

Cautiously, Nick stood, his eyes focused on the gun, his mind racing, wondering how he was going to get out of this. Wondered what would happen if Crane shot him. What would happen to Greg? Would Crane shoot him too? Or worse, would he take him? Force him into some sick fantasy life, never to be seen again?

"Nick, you know what a nine millimeter slug does to a skull at close range?" Crane asked. "Do you know?"

"Yeah."

"Blow it right apart, right?" he continued. "Brains like strawberry swirled whipped cream everywhere. And you." He shoved the gun close to Nick's face. "You'd have to scoop that stuff up, right? Yeah, little pieces of skull and bone and brains. All in individual baggies with the victim's name on the label."

"You know, I don't want to disappoint you, Nigel," Nick stated, his voice thick, his heart pounding in his chest. "But this isn't the first time I've had a gun in my face."

"What about you?" Crane asked, turning the gun on Greg, and Nick didn't think he would ever forget how scared Greg looked right then. He glanced at Nick with pleading eyes, his mouth open as if to speak but the words wouldn't come. "Have you ever had a gun in your face, Greg?"

"How do you want this to end, Nigel?" Nick asked quickly, taking a challenging step forward, and Nigel aimed the gun back at him. He heard Greg breathe his name, quiet and desperate.

"How do I want this to end?" Crane reiterated. "I want you to be able to remember my name."

Something flashed across his eyes, and suddenly Nick realized exactly what the other man had in mind. Crane pulled the gun back and aimed it towards his own throat, ready to blow his own brains out all over Nick's living room. Nick lunged forward, grasping the metal in his hands, struggling for possession. There was a loud explosion as the gun fired, another as the front door burst inwards. Yelling, and then there were hands on him, pulling him away, officers swarming his home and pushing Nigel Crane into the ground.

"Hey," Brass' voice, his hand on Nick's shoulder as Nick held the gun up toward the ceiling. "It's done. All right?"

"Yeah." Nick nodded, swallowing hard and blinking against the burn in his eyes. Remembered he hadn't been alone and that the gun had went off, and quickly his eyes searched for Greg, who was standing unharmed on the other side of the room, hands in his hair, mouth open in bewilderment. Nick's breath exploded from him in relief as he handed the gun to Brass and crossed the room. "Are you okay?"

Greg nodded silently, his breathing ragged. Lowered his hands from his head, his gaze following the officers escorting Crane out of the house.

"Hey. Look at me," Nick touched the side of Greg's face, turning him gently to face Nick. Greg's eyes met his, and Nick could see him snap out of his reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Greg responded, and his brow knotted with worry as he began to inspect Nick's face, hands, arms, warm hands running over his skin, as if Greg needed to feel Nick beneath his fingertips to believe he was really there – really alive. "Are you?"

Nick smiled softly. "Yeah."

A throat cleared behind them, and Nick turned to see Brass appearing so uncomfortable Nick nearly laughed. "I'll need to take you guys down to the station, and, uh…well, you know, this is a crime scene now, so…"

"I'll drive us," Greg offered, and Brass nodded, tossing them only a minimally suspicious glance before stepping away. "I'll take you back to my place after, okay? You can stay there. If you want to, I mean. You don't have to, but I guess you can't really stay here. But you can stay somewhere else, if you have somewhere else to stay. Then I think I have to finish my shift. I kind of left a batch in the oven, it should be done by now, but I didn't think I'd be gone this long. I guess this is a good excuse for taking an extended lunch, huh? You think Grissom'll – "

He was rambling nervously, and Nick wasn't sure if it was from the leftover adrenaline, or not knowing what to do with himself, or where he and Nick stood in their relationship at this moment, or maybe a combination of all three. Nick reached out with his uninjured hand, watching Greg lean back with confusion as his fingers got closer to his mouth, and Greg finally stopped talking when Nick held his lips closed with his thumb and index finger.

"Sorry," the young man murmured, pulling away with a sheepish smile.

"It's okay," Nick stated. He clasped his fingers around Greg's, surprising another smile out of him. Squeezed his fingers reassuringly before letting go. "Let's go. Then you can take me back to your place. You don't even have to buy me dinner first."

* * *

To be continued. I know I said there was 13 chapters but I added a short epilogue. So there's two chapters left! Thanks for all your kind words! xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

Nick was lying down alone, enveloped in a luxurious down comforter while waiting for Greg to finish the rest of his shift. It was taking great effort not to imagine who else had been in this bed. Who else had had the pleasure of sliding across the sheets to touch Greg's body, who else had enjoyed the feel of warm skin, tangled limbs, searing fingertips. Nick willed himself to swallow the jealousy creating a lead pit in his stomach, knowing it was his own fault for failing to allow himself to stop worrying about everything that could go possibly go wrong, for putting on the brakes before anything even had a chance to.

It was not something that he was used to, to hang on for the ride and allow nature to take its course. Nick liked to be in control of his life, but if last night had proven anything, it was that no one really had any control over their own destiny. Not when there were punks waiting to assault you in an alley or stalkers living in your attic, and who knew what was next? Who ever really knew what life had in store for them?

So perhaps…perhaps it was time for Nick to stop worrying about it and start living in the moment. Starting with this thing he had with Greg. This great thing that was fun and thrilling and had been so easy until Nick had gone and made a mess out of it.

He heard the front door to the apartment opening, his heart instinctively racing at the sound after the night he'd just had. Sat up in bed, poised to run, and thought that perhaps he shouldn't have been so hasty to remove his clothes and climb in between the sheets in just his boxers, no matter how great Greg's expensive luxury sheets felt against his bare skin.

Greg peeked his head into the room, catching sight of Nick's tense posture and quickly smiled reassuringly. "Just me. I'm going to shower, okay? Are you hungry? I picked up a bagel for you."

"No," Nick responded, leaning back against the pillows, forcing himself to relax. "The Vicodin kind of makes me nauseous."

"It's probably because you're taking it on an empty stomach," Greg commented, as he moved into the bathroom. He pushed the door closed, leaving only a few inch gap, and Nick wondered when Greg had become so modest. He heard the shower start before Greg's voice floated in from behind the door. "Eat something before you take it next time, or I'll torture you by explaining the chemical breakdown of opiates and how they react to the natural elements in your body to cause nausea."

Nick sighed as he rolled his eyes, then closed them and emptied his mind. Maybe it was Greg's presence, or the fact that Nick was no longer alone in an empty and quiet apartment, but he must've relaxed enough to drift off. His eyes fluttered open as he felt the bed dip, and he watched Greg slide between the sheets beside him. He turned carefully, reaching for the other man, his aching body protesting with the movement, but he hadn't touched Greg like this in far too long, and he needed to _feel him_. Needed to feel his skin, hot and flushed from the shower. Needed to feel his damp hair between his fingers, his lips against his mouth, sharing the same air, breathing, because they were together, they were alive, and did it really matter who else had been in this bed when Nick was the one in it now?

Tenderly, they kissed, touched, reveled in each other's existence. Nick pulled away only for the necessity of breathing, his expression softening at the sight of battered skin. Gently, Nick trailed his fingers down the bruise on the left side of Greg's face, kissing the tender flesh. Ghosted fingertips down Greg's arm, taking his hand and pulling it towards Nick's mouth; pressed his lips against the bruised skin of Greg's wrist. Found a boot print on Greg's bicep and kissed there too, scoured every inch of Greg's skin until Greg was breathless and arching into his touch, until he had kissed away all of the pain and heartache and days that Nick had not been there to protect him.

He hovered over Greg, bracing himself against the bed with his uninjured arm, taking in the blush in Greg's cheeks, the quickness of his breathing, the relief and hope and uncertainty dancing in his eyes, but there was something else there too. Something Nick had never dared to believe he could see in anyone's eyes when they looked at him, and to see it in Greg's…in his sweet and funny and strong Greg, it was almost too much to bear. The responsibility was too great, he had already let Greg down so many times, the bruises on his body were a physical testament to it, and he didn't think…he didn't…

"Nick, I – "

"I know," Nick whispered, interrupting him as if the words would be too painful to hear.

Greg said them anyway. "I love you."

Nick swallowed hard, nodding as he blinked back the stinging in his eyes. "I love you too."

Their lips met in another tender kiss, Greg's hands gingerly resting on Nick's shoulders as if he were afraid Nick would break beneath his fingertips, but gentle wasn't what Nick needed right now. And he knew his battered body was already so sore he'd probably be paying for this later, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He pulled Greg on top of him, who cautiously straddled Nick's hips, careful not to bear down on him but Nick needed to feel Greg's weight on top of him, to reassure him that Greg was really there, that this was real.

"Greg, please," Nick breathed, as he felt soft lips press to the tender flesh of his neck, felt a tongue sweep over his pulse. He arched into the touch, but it was too gentle, too delicate. He needed more. He pushed his hips up into Greg's, their hard cocks brushing against each other and Nick gasped at the delicious friction, felt Greg groan into his shoulder. "You won't hurt me."

"I won't," Greg murmured against his skin. "I promise, I won't. Let me take care of you, Nicky. I promise I won't ever hurt you."

Nick could only nod silently at the powerful words, knowing Greg was not only referring to physically hurting Nick in this moment, but that he would never hurt Nick in any sense of the word, and Nick had never felt more safe and secure in his entire life.

Greg slid his legs between Nick's, urging Nick's apart, pushing his thighs up towards his chest. Reached between them and grasped Nick's leaking erection in his hand, gripping it hard as he slowly, achingly grinded his own dick against the cleft of Nick's ass. The younger man leaned forward, capturing Nick's lips in another kiss, and Nick was vaguely aware of a drawer sliding open beside him. The hand was removed from the heated flesh of his cock and then there were trembling fingers slipping inside of him, and Nick gladly welcomed the uncomfortable burn, groaning into Greg's mouth as the sensation turned from pain to pleasure. Greg angled his fingers, finding Nick's prostate and pressing into it, leaving Nick panting as he pushed down against Greg's hand, longing for more.

"Greg," he breathed, wrapping his legs around Greg's waist, pulling him closer, and Greg gasped as his cock slid against Nick's body. "Greg, please."

"Anything you want," Greg said, leaning back to slide a condom down his hard shaft and slick himself up with lubricant. He leaned forward again, lining himself up and pressing into Nick's body, pressing into tight heat, possessing him, owning him. Greg's brown eyes were intense with a fiery desire, filled with so much love Nick didn't think he could stand it, and he tightly closed his eyes as he felt himself being impaled further and further until Greg was finally, completely inside of him and Nick was finally, finally full.

"Oh, Nicky," Greg whispered, his warm breath against Nick's cheek sending a shiver down his spine. He wrapped his arms around Greg's body, gripping his back, pulling him closer as they began to move together, to move as one. "Nicky, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…"

Over and over, like a prayer, and Nick didn't ever think he would tire of hearing those words uttered so softly into his ear. And Greg had been right to be so gentle, to be so cautious, because Nick _was_ breaking beneath his fingertips. Falling apart into a million pieces that would never fit back together the same ever again. Watched as Greg picked up every piece and carefully reconstructed him, filling in the empty spaces with pieces of himself, creating something new and different, and Nick had never felt so beautiful.

"Greg," Nick sighed, as the young man slid in and out of him with long, slow strokes, hitting his prostate every time. His own cock was sliding between their warm bodies, trapped in slick heat from their sweat and Nick's pre-come. He felt heat building within him, starting in his gut and spreading through his veins, the skin of his chest and neck and face flushing with the evidence of it, and then Nick was bursting into flames, heat exploding out of him as he cried out with rapture.

Greg almost immediately followed, thrusting hard once, twice, and then his entire body tensed, his eyes opening and focusing on Nick's right as he came, and Nick could see in the depths of those deep, brown eyes that Greg was new and different too. Or maybe Nick had just never noticed before how beautiful he already was.

Nick wasn't sure how long had passed before Greg hesitantly removed himself from Nick's embrace, fetching a wet washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning them up. He gently eased himself back into bed but did not return to Nick's arms, instead laid about a foot away. Silent except for his breathing, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, and Nick could feel a density in the air that had not been there just moments ago.

He could understand. They had already done this. Greg had already offered everything to Nick once before. Foolishly, Greg had trusted him when Nick had made all those promises he never intended on keeping. And maybe Greg had known that Nick could hurt him, maybe he just hoped he wouldn't. Maybe Greg just thought he would never know if he didn't try. But that was exactly why Nick never lived in the moment, never made rash decisions, never made a move without calculating each possible outcome until he was sure it was the right choice. You couldn't just take chances, that's how people got hurt.

So of course Greg was apprehensive. Nick had already failed him once before, why wouldn't he do the same now? And while Nick wasn't sure how to make it right, he'd never know if he didn't try.

"I know I don't have any right to ask you to believe me," Nick said quietly. "And I have no idea what I'm doing, but I promise if you don't give up on me, I'll never give up on us."

Silence. Nick felt his heart splitting in two, swallowing hard and biting back tears, his hope quickly dwindling as the quiet stretched on into what seemed to be eternity. Then gentle, tentative fingers found his, slipping into his hand, and Nick held on tightly. And he swore this time he would never let go.

* * *

To be concluded. Please leave me some reviews. Press the button Presssss iiiiitttt. You know you want to.


	14. Chapter 14

He was in Frank's Restaurant, sitting in a booth, the cheap vinyl seat taped together with gray duct tape in two different places. He picked at the tape with his nails, wondering why the owner – Frank, he supposed – thought that looked better than just leaving the stuffing hanging out. He removed his fingers, wiping sticky tape residue on his napkin before leaning forward and drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Picked up his coffee cup to take a sip, placed it back down before doing so; he was sure if he drank any more coffee that day, his heart would explode. If it wasn't going to already from anxiety.

"Nick," Warrick said from across the table, pausing in annihilating the omelet in front of him. "You're bouncing around like Lindsey after she's had too much candy. It's making me nervous. What's going on?"

"Hmm?" he asked, stilling in his fidgeting and looking up at Warrick expectantly. As if he wasn't being completely obvious.

Warrick scoffed with amusement. "Come on. What is it?"

While it was true that Nick's intentions had been to finally confide in his friend the true nature of his sexuality and – even more daunting – exactly who he had been seeing, Nick was finding it difficult to broach the subject. Or any subject. He'd just been sitting there, eating his – what was he eating again? Oh, yes, a club sandwich and fries. Which he hadn't touched even though the waitress had dropped off his plate at least twenty minutes ago.

This was proving much more difficult than Nick thought it would be, although he'd taken six months to prepare for this moment. Greg hadn't pressured him – at all, in fact. But Warrick was supposed to be Nick's friend. Maybe even his best friend. And Nick might have felt guilty for keeping something this big from him, but he didn't want to jump the gun. What if he revealed this part of himself, the most secret part of himself, and it ended their friendship? It changed the way they worked together, hung out together? What if he and Greg didn't even work out, and then Nick was left with no boyfriend _or_ best friend?

"Why would you want to be friends with him anyway then?" Greg had asked, idly flipping through _Cosmopolitan_ magazine on the couch when Nick had expressed his concerns. Because that was what Nick did now, talked about his feelings, instead of keeping them inside until they ate away at him and ultimately his relationship with Greg. "_Cosmo_ says I should stick your dick through a donut and eat it off while I blow you."

Nick blinked. "What?"

Which, Greg was of course right. Not about the donut, about Warrick. He wouldn't want to be friends with someone who didn't accept him for who he was, but he really didn't think Warrick was that kind of guy anyway. So he made a promise to himself: that if he and Greg were still together in six months, Nick would tell Warrick.

It would actually be kind of nice to have someone else to talk to besides Sara. Not that it wasn't nice to be able to have a real conversation with her about his life without having to dodge certain subjects or watch his pronouns, but she was definitely _not_ the person to vent to whenever he got into a fight with Greg. He had already made that mistake before, and her loyalties definitely lied with the young lab rat. So maybe he'd finally have a shoulder to cry on too, so to speak.

Well, there was always Jim Brass, but Nick shivered at the thought of confiding _anything_ to the gruff detective. After successfully serving an eviction notice on the man that had unknowingly taken up residence in his attic, Brass had inadvertently witnessed an intimate moment between a shell shocked Nick and Greg. Nick had thought about it often during the week he'd missed work, worrying Brass would tell Grissom or start acting differently around Nick or any myriad number of worse scenarios Nick agonized over.

So when the detective took Nick aside the first day Nick had returned to work, the CSI braced himself and prepared for the worst. But Brass only awkwardly shifted his gaze while quietly but brusquely informing Nick that whatever Nick did in his private life was his own business until it started affecting his work, and only then would Brass make it his business too. It was kind of sweet, in that way that Brass had, but then the detective muttered, "You'd think Sanders would know better than to get caught up with riffraff like you," and quickly left, just in case Nick thought he cared.

And then everything went back to the way it was.

"Just spit it out, man," Warrick said now, more impatiently this time, although Nick could see his eyes shadowed with concern.

Right. Talking. That's what he was supposed to be doing, not sitting there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. But every time he tried to speak, his voice caught in his throat. He forced air out of his lungs, attempting the words, but all that came out was a squeak, and he cleared his throat as he shifted uneasily in his seat, the vinyl beneath him protesting noisily.

"I…" he began hesitantly, his eyes cast to his breakfast. "I'm…seeing…someone."

There. That wasn't so hard, was it? But when he looked up, Warrick was eyeing him curiously, smiling uncertainly.

"That's good, right?" Warrick asked.

"Uh, yeah…yeah, it's good."

"So what's got you all anxious?" he asked, but in the next moment he was grinning broadly, knowingly. "Unless it's someone I know."

"It is someone you know," Nick responded. "But you can't…you can't tell anyone."

"Hot damn, Nicky, you dog!" his friend exclaimed, rapping on the table loudly with his knuckles. "Who is it? Sara?"

"No," Nick replied hastily. "It's not someone you think."

"Oh, man, is it Catherine?"

"No!" Nick nearly shouted, flustered at Warrick's enthusiasm and the attention they were drawing from other tables. "It's not – !" he started hotly, and then raked his fingers through his hair, leaning against his hand, elbow on the table. Quietly, he continued, unable to meet Warrick's eyes. "It's not…a woman."

It was suddenly very quiet, and after a moment Nick dared to look up into his friend's – hopefully still his friend's – face. Warrick was regarding him dubiously, brow knotted, mouth open, eyes wide and fiercely lit with – shock? Anger? Fear? Nick couldn't tell. They stared at each other, until at least a minute had gone by although it felt like an eternity, and Warrick still wasn't saying anything, just staring at Nick with that same expression and now Nick was beginning to believe this may not have been such a good idea after all.

Nick jerked forward, opening his mouth to say something – anything – to fix this when a familiar tangle of arms and legs flopped down in the booth beside him. The sounds of the diner came back to him with a roar, glasses clinking, people talking, coffee pouring into a carafe.

"Hey, guys," Greg greeted cheerily, unaware of the tense scene he'd just barged into. "Man, what a crazy day, right?"

The young man flashed a chain of white teeth, smiling at the two CSIs, but his focus was all over the place. His eyes traveled to their food and the specials board and the waitress fluttering around and back to their food. He reached for Nick's coffee cup, taking a sip before setting it back down, the cheap ceramic clattering noisily against the saucer, and then he was grabbing fries off of Nick's plate, popping them into his mouth as he eyed the specials board again.

Nick wasn't exactly sure what his face looked like right now, but he was pretty sure it must have given everything away. He watched Warrick's gaze move between Greg and himself, realization dawning in his bright green eyes, his mouth hanging comically open and Nick almost laughed in his hysteria.

"What are the specials today? Anything good?" Greg asked, squinting at the whiteboard across the restaurant, and when he turned back to the table and caught sight of Warrick's stricken expression, he sat up with alarm. "Warrick, are you okay?"

Greg looked at Nick with confusion, opening his mouth as if to ask what was going on, but once he met Nick's gaze, the young man's eyes widened and he gasped in horror.

"Now?" Greg nearly shrieked, his gaze bouncing between the two men. "You're doing it _now_? Jesus, Nick, give a guy some warning."

"It's been six months," Nick explained feebly, as if that justified everything.

"Six months?" Warrick blurted out.

"Oh, my God," Greg sighed dramatically, bracing his hands on the table as he slid out of the seat to leave. "I'll go. I didn't – I'm sorry. I'll go."

A hand wrapped around Greg's wrist, stopping him from leaving, and when Greg turned back, he looked at Nick expectantly, but the hand didn't belong to Nick. It belonged to Warrick, who was gripping the young lab rat so hard Nick was sure if he'd been any other color his knuckles would've been white.

"No," Warrick said, and Greg sat back down uncertainly, although Nick wasn't sure if it was on his own accord or by force. Warrick released his hold on Greg, who snatched his hand back and rubbed his wrist while pouting. "It's okay."

"Is it?" Nick asked, so quietly he almost didn't hear himself speak. He imagined Saturdays at his house, watching college ball and arguing over who should've won the Heisman Trophy. Imagined nights spent at the casinos, losing too much money playing cards while mooning over cocktail waitresses in tiny skirts, scrounging up the cash left between them to grab a cab home because they'd both drank way too much. Imagined breakfasts just like this one in Frank's Diner, gossiping about coworkers and laughing about ridiculous cases.

Imagined never having any of those things ever again.

He felt Greg comfortingly touch his knee beneath the table. Placed his own hand on top of Greg's, lacing their fingers together. Because even if it wasn't okay, even if he never did have any of those things ever again, at least they would still have each other.

"Yeah. It is." Warrick shifted his gaze from Nick to Greg and back to Nick, and then he leaned back in his seat. Shook his head, scoffing before smiling with disbelief, and now those green eyes were bright with amusement and perhaps just a little bit of mischief. "But I mean…you finally decide settle down and you pick _Sanders_?"

And just like that, Nick felt the tension release from his body. Greg squeezed his hand gently before removing his hand to pick off more fries from Nick's plate. Nick smiled into his chest, gaze focused on his breakfast as he blinked away the stinging in his eyes.

"I'll have you know that I'm a great catch," Greg stated with great dignity. He paused briefly, before regarding Nick and nudging him in the ribs with an elbow. "This is the part where you're supposed to agree with me."

Nick cleared his throat and nodded, speaking only when he felt like he had his voice under control. "Doesn't know shit about football, though."

"Do too," Greg shot back. "Did you know to make that yellow line on the field, a three-dimensional, virtual model of each field has to be constructed? The center of the field is always higher than the sides and ends for drainage, but the precise levels vary in each venue. They send out a whole team three days in advance with a laser!"

Nick pulled a face. "Why do you know that?"

"When we were watching the game last weekend, I asked you and you said you didn't know," Greg pointed out. "So I looked it up."

"Like I said," Nick sighed. "Doesn't know shit about football."

"Yesterday I learned the down system," Greg declared proudly.

"This doesn't mean you're looking for a replacement to watch games with, does it?" Warrick asked, his hand over his heart as he feigned hurt.

"No, no, no," Nick assured him. "You definitely don't have anything to worry about."

"Good," Warrick said, and then continued playfully, "Because you've got the biggest TV out of all my friends. I won't mind if he joins us though. As long as you keep the technical trivia to yourself there, Greggo."

"I can't help it that I need to know everything," Greg said helplessly. "It's actually quite a burden to be this smart. And good looking."

"Modest, too."

Nick quietly ate his sandwich as he listened to the two men banter back and forth, grinning like a fool as he enjoyed breakfast with his boyfriend and his best friend. The first of many more to come.

* * *

The End. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Next up is an apocalypse fic. We'll see when I get around to finishing it.


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